


At Your Service

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-10-19 18:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10645239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: The reader is a servant sent to Mirkwood as a gift from Lord Elrond, but Thranduil may just find new duties for her.





	1. Chapter 1

The life of a servant was often unexciting. Yet, as you were sent off in a cart among a party of six fellow maids, you had been told that you were on a lively adventure. Rather, you were merely transferring household from that of Rivendell to Mirkwood. Your fellow travellers tittered at the chance to work for the vaunted woodland Elvenking and yet you could find little difference or passion in the transition.

You resented that you were being sent to the distant kingdom as a ‘gift’. You were low upon the ladder of society, but you had treasured your position in Rivendell. Lord Elrond and his fellow noble elves treated you well enough, as if you were more than a set of hands to carry a tray or beat the dust out of a well-used rug. King Thranduil, however, was famed for his extravagance and snobbery. You had heard-say that a sneer down the long bridge of his nose often sent elves running; nobles and commoners alike.

In your head, you imagined a bitter elf with little more to enjoy than the squirming of others as he wielded his crown with cruelty. Never one to be toyed with, you resolved that you would not be among those he used for his own amusement. You could not guess at why you had been chosen for the Mirkwood assignment, but as a servant, you were used to being jostled around from one chore to another.

Arriving in Mirkwood, you watched the twisted branches which lined the façade of the palace as they loomed above. Tinted glass in varied shades of blue, green, and violet lent an ethereal glow to the grand woodland alcazar and nearly took your breath away. Refusing to let your awe get the best of you, you steeled yourself as the other elves chattered in high-pitched tones and sing-song. Before the day was done, you would be sweeping and dusting the very halls they marveled at.

Surpassing the front steps, marble lined with intricate veins of ivy, you and the other servants were led from your cart through the back entrance meant for your ilk. To your surprise, however, you were taken past the kitchens and into the greater halls of the palace. The corridors were airy bridge ways and branched hallways which smelled of forest and summer. You followed the rest through wrought golden and glass doors, your skirts sweeping across the pristine marble floors patterned intricate ivory inlays.

A throne sat at the end of the spacious chamber, sunlight glowing in faded indigo rays down upon the silver figure draped across it. King Thranduil’s branched crown sat elegantly atop his pale hair and his crystalline eyes slowly found the half-dozen servants walking silently towards him. The rest had fallen silent, their breath held in mutual nervousness, while your own came steady and unfazed. You were more impressed by the architecture than the monarch.

“You must be Lord Elrond’s gift,” He mused as he looked the six of you over indifferently; your dull grey gowns welcomed little interest with their high, stiff collars, and straight-boned corsets, “I’ve always need for more hands in my palace. You shall be welcome kindly by the help, I am certain, and I never let my dues go unpaid.”

You could hear a few of the girls trying to withhold their giggles and whispers beside you as the king stood and smiled at the lot of you. Your own face was placid and you resisted the urge to scowl and roll your eyes. Years of service had readied you to conceal you disdain. Unlike the rest, you remembered the custom of a bow and they followed suit with embarrassment. The sooner you were dismissed, the better. These servants should know better of such behaviour and you were loath to be pegged in with them.

“Evin,” He neared the liveried attendant who had shown you in, “I trust you know what is to be done.” Thranduil turned back to the six of you, “Please, make yourselves at home before you take up your assignment. I trust you will live happily here and be welcomed in kind.”

With an air of dismissal, he turned back up the steps of his throne and you shook your head at the others, nearly tripping over themselves as Evin motioned you back through the doors. You hated formalities, especially those paid towards the help, as they could hardly seem anything other than false. It was the king’s duty to welcome all who arrived in his kingdom but a messenger would have been less laughable than that curt affair.

The others seemed little affected by the king’s obvious nonchalance towards them; what was another servant among hundreds? You sighed as they whispered; _oh, wasn’t he a handsome king? Lithe hands and trim figure. A king among kings. Much more attractive then Elrond._ Did they not realize they would see as little of him as they did of their former master?

At the doors of the kitchen, two of the girls were ushered inside as an aproned elf instructed them in their new duties, though they had done similar work before. The next stop was the laundries, and resigned to the steam and humidity of those torturous corridors, you were relieved when two other servants were ordered to depart. You and one other remained, the thinnest of the bunch who had lost all giddiness.

“You,” Evin pointed to the slim blonde elf beside you, “You will be among the chambermaids,” He stopped at an intersect of corridors, gesturing to his left, “At the end of this corridor, you will find the head dame awaiting you with orders,” He bowed his head snootily and she hesitantly looked between you and the attendant before setting off down the hallway, “And you,” His eyes narrowed as they explored your appearance, “You look fit for a stablehand. They’re always in need of workers there.”

“Happily,” You accepted, sensing that this elf thought himself the noblest of commoners and unwant to show your annoyance, you veiled yourself in indfference, “I’ve always preferred the outdoors.”

“For now,” He allowed darkly, “Give it a week.” He turned, waving you forward with two fingers over his shoulder and you followed him with a tilt of his head. You had done worse work in more dire circumstances.

* * *

There were few occasions in which Thranduil was truly at peace. He had always enjoyed the grounds of Mirkwood, walking amongst the greenery and birch trees reminded him of his childhood. It had been long ago but the blossoms and leaves smelled just as they had then. He inhaled, closing his eyes as he paused behind a tall hedge, trimmed perfectly between rose gardens. Few others traversed the winding paths and maze-like shrubs, thus it was easy to forget the worries of his throne.

Among the chirping of bird, he heard another song, this one closer and sonourous; a voice carried lyrics as rich as its tones. Keeping his footfalls light and noiseless, Thranduil walked along the hedge, following the music until he edged around to the other side. A servant, dressed in the pale cornflower of Mirkwoodian servants, sang to the roses she pruned them caringly with small pair of clippers.

 _“The woods are burning, the ground lies bare._  
Do you feel it in the earth? Can you smell it in the air?  
The war is upon you, Death moves in the fading light.  
Are you part of this world? Will you join their fight?”

She sang and Thranduil recognized her, keeping his distance as he watched her without notice. Her hair was pulled back behind her head and the same eyes which had shown him so little regard focused on her toil with a passion. She was one of the servants who had arrived a fortnight before, the only who had not seemed dumbstruck by her new home. And king. He had noticed her disinterest and in a way, it had irked him.

Trimming away an errant stem, her fingers caressed the petal of a pale rose and she smiled, her song ending. She stood, dusting off her soiled hand on her dirt-smeared apron and turned, slipping the clippers into her pocket before stopping short. Her lips twitched but her surprise was well-handled and she gave a stiff and formal bow.

“Your majesty,” Her voice has lost all trace of its former spirit, “Is there some task you require of me?”

He looked her up and down, pondering her question, his mind tempted to bawdiness just to make her flinch, but he was sure even that would not vex her. It was a feature he treasured in his own person; a stoicism so fine-tuned that it seemed almost impenetrable. As king, it was necessary, but as a servant…he had never seen a commoner so indomitable. It stirred in him a peculiar twang, one which he could not place. One which intrigued him.

“Not at all, I was only admiring your song,” He replied after a drawn out pause and she merely nodded, looking around at the gardenscape, “You’re as skilled at singing as you are with those.”

Thranduil gestured to the clippers peeking out from her apron pocket and her fingers twiddled just slightly, enough for his encouragement.

“Thank you, your majesty,” She accepted blandly, “I fear I get carried away. The flowers…”

“They’re inspiring,” He finished with a smirk, “You are one of the Rivendell elves.”

“I am,” She answered without hesitation, “The gardens, they remind me of those in Rivendell.”

“I have visited Rivendell,” He glanced at the roses, “I daresay our flowers are enviable in comparison.”

“But you have no lilies,” She argued and the slant of her mouth, not quite a grin, set another spark within him, “If you would, your majesty,” She smoothed her skirts and issued another bow, “I still have work to be done.”

“As you will,” He allowed with a flutter of his fingers, “But, before you go, your name?”

“My name?” She wondered, for the first showing a trace of interest, “…Y/N.”

“Y/N,” He repeated, suppressing the smile his lips longed to form, “Lovely.”

He lowered his head politely and she gave him a brief look before disappearing beyond the hedge he had only just passed. He listened to her footsteps, intermingled with the metallic bite of the clippers as she stopped to touch up the hedges. At last, his lips curved in his delight and he tried to decipher the emotion. Such fervor was novel, dangerous even.

* * *

You finished another day, your shoulders sore from lifting bales of hay and reining in the horses run wild from the summer breeze. You wished every day could be pruning flowers and shrubs but it was not all bad. Listening to the whine of the others, the Rivendell six roomed together in the servants’ quarters, you could not help but be thankful. 

Lottie and Rena complained of the humidity of the laundries and Mina and Kia were bored with kitchen duties, as Netti loathed being a chambermaid. The smell of grass, pollen, and even manure was delectable compared to their grievances. Even the meagre potato soup and bread offered for dinner could not dampen your spirits. That was to be the duty of another. 

Evin, ever sneaky and snobbish in his demeanour, knocked at the door and Lottie answered, blanching at the elf on the other side. The six of you lined up quietly, as was expected during his spontaneous and rare visits. You counted the seconds until he would be gone but his words spoiled any respite that would be had with his absence.

“Y/N,” He looked along the line as if he did not know which name belonged to each of you, “You are to report tomorrow morning to the royal chambers.”

You glanced down the line from the corner of your eyes and resisted a grimace. You merely nodded and he took that as ascent, his grey eyes indifferent.

“Netti, you are to show Y/N the duties of a chamber maid,” The room was suddenly suffocating and its lack of space all the more apparent, “You,” He pointed to you as if disgusted by the mere gesture, “Are to serve the king from now on.”

You chewed the inside of your lip and looked to the other girls who peered at each other in confusion. You hid yours to the best of your ability but your change in duties was like a slap across the face. Evin left with a scoff and the others broke into their flighty chatter, asking you questions you would not answer even if you had been listening.

“I can’t believe you’re so lucky,” Lotty whined, sitting on the edge of the bed she shared with Rena as your hearing returned, “The king? You know, you’ll be getting special treatment. Besides, I’m sure it’s much preferable to the stables.”

“Yes, you do smell like a horse by the end of the day,” Rena added with a flutter of laughter, “Besides, a barn is no place for an elvish lady.”

“We’re servants not ladies,” You scowled at her; you spent more time in the gardens then you did the stables, “And it’s much better than any laundry. How is it down there?”

“You don’t have to be rude, Y/N,” Lottie chimed her defense of Rena, “We only meant…we’re awfully jealous is all.”

“Now that there’s a free spot in the stables, do you think they’d let me transfer?” Netti asked as she smoothed her skirts across her lap, “After I finish training you of course. I figure if they’d let you change at such short notice–”

“I didn’t ask to change,” You protested as you leaned against the cool wall, sideways across the thin mattress beside Netti, your bed mate, “I don’t want to. I’d rather any of you take it from me.”

“Truly?” Mina and Kia perked up from their bed, the former’s voice hopeful, “If you could put in a good word…”

“Oh, Mina, you are the last one among us deserving of that,” Rena shot back, a new argument beginning as the girls began to compete for the position you were to fill.

Perhaps you could put in a good word and one of the others could relieve you of the work. Netti was already a chambermaid and better qualified, but any would be more pleased than you at the prospect. You remained silent, ignoring their heated row, as you thought of a way to keep your stable duties, though dread underlined the hope brewing in your chest. The king did not seem the bartering type and you could face worse if you overstepped yourself.

Only tomorrow held the answer but first you would face a night of the unknown, tossing and turning as you awaited your fate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader adjusts to her new duties.

You watched Netti as she pulled down the last corner of the blanket across the mattress, proudly turning to you with a flourish. She tilted her head with a smug smirk and neared you with an air of expertise. You withheld an irritated growl and returned a sickly smile and waited for her to speak. You were far more impatient to reach the royal chambers and rectify the situation.

“I like to do the bed last,” Netti announced as she gathered the dirtied linens in her arms, “It’s usually the most work…depending on the room. Always make sure to check the bathchamber first.”

“I have worked as a chambermaid before,” You finally surrendered to your darker side, “I am more than certain there is not much, if any, difference between the duties in Rivendell and here.”

“Oh, Y/N,” Netti shook her head disapprovingly, “You’ve been working with horses and dirt far too long. The king is not going to like that attitude.”

“Don’t tell me about attitude,” You rolled your eyes and folded a corner back onto the pile of fabric in her arms, “I know how to do my job, be it in a stable or indoors.”

“Be that as it may,” She glowered, “King Thranduil is undoubtedly much less amenable than Lord Elrond was.”

“Should he take issue with my work and its quality thereof,” You simpered, “Than he is more than welcome to do it himself.”

“Y/N!” Netti exclaimed with shock, “You cannot—He is a king. He’ll send you back to the stables.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” You murmured dryly and she frowned, “If this little arrangement does not last, I will make sure that your name is heard. Don’t you fret, Netti.”

“Truly?” Her eyes widened with hope, “Oh, please do.”

“I’ll do my best,” You opened the door for her, all animosity fading away as the anxiety of what still awaited you returned, “I think it’s time I go though,” She stood across from you, your paths leading in opposite directions.

“Good luck,” She squeaked with obvious envy, half-turning away, “And you’ll have to tell us tonight how it goes. I’d love to hear everything about the king and–”

“Right,” You interrupted before she began to titter uncontrollably, “You best be off.”

Netti turned away reluctantly and you watched her, even more hesitant to be on your way. You thought of your last interaction with king. Of how he asked your name and the twinkle in his eyes as he had watched you intently. You wondered if this was a cruel trick he was playing on you. You had heard rumours of him which would lend heed to such suspicions.

You dragged your boots across the marble floors, tracing the twisted branches of the wall with your fingers as you found your way to the looming doors of the royal chamber. You looked up at them with a cynical huff; you had never understood such lavish displays. A door was meant to open and close, it should not be so complicated.

You raised a hand and rapped cautiously upon the doors, waiting for a response which never came. Thranduil was like busy acting the king, traipsing around in his brocade and jewels. Whatever kept him, it saved you another tense meeting with the king and you were eager to be done with your chores. Though you knew that eventually, you would have to associate with him and don your menial manners.

You entered, unable to hide your awe as the exquisite chamber was revealed before you. A large bed carved from birch stood upon a platform, a canopy of golden silk hung atop the posts. The marble floor shone though no lantern burned, only the natural hue of the sunlight seeping in through the balcony doors. A small oval rug was spread beneath a carved maple table with a pair of matching chairs and a lamp of blown glass sat atop it.

The hearth stood open-mouthed, a birch mantle above it which bore a variety of gold and silver trinkets. Several pieces of finely-crafted furniture of ivory, maple, and rosewood decorated the room and the realization of the work ahead of you, was as suffocating as the opulence of the chamber. You shut the door carelessly and shuddered as you took in the entirety of the room. You missed the gardens more than ever.

First, you opened the balcony doors, letting the sunlight stream in directly before you while you lot several of the lanterns which hung along the wall. Next you checked the bath chamber, as Netti had advised, and set about tidying the lack of mess in there. Either Thranduil was obsessively tidy or he was never in. Either way, it was a relief.

The hearth had only a shallow pile of ash within, the summer nights required little warming, and only a few lamps needed oil. You wiped the tables, those by the bed and the round maple dinette, and straightened the bed covers. It was still not enough to keep you busied and so you were only pretending to dust the mantle when the door shifted and you looked expectantly to the door as Thranduil entered.

“Your majesty,” You prostrated yourself, only slightly, and looked to him directly, “Your chamber has been tidied.”

“Ah, just in time for supper,” He glanced out the window to the dimming light, “Do go fetch my meal,” He strolled across the floor in his pointed boots, sitting at the round table as he reclined lazily against the back of the chair, “And if you would, a fresh apron.” He gestured to your front, covered in grey soot from the fireplace.

“Certainly, your majesty,” You swallowed back your natural recalcitrance and bowed your head, turning on your heel without ado.

You had expected more than that; he had not so much as acknowledged your greeting and issued his orders as tersely as he would an insult. You had seen the challenge in his silver eyes however, as he had only briefly glanced at you when he entered. You exited through the door swiftly, keeping your shoulders straight as to keep from him the satisfaction of your discontent.

* * *

You returned with Thranduil’s dinner, the tray overflowing with vegetables, colourful and aromatic, seared, mashed, seasoned, and skewered. A loaf a fresh bread and a tall bottle of wine was added to the spread and you maneuvered through the doors lithely. Despite the feeling that the balance of the tray would tip at any moment, you could not let yourself look anything but steady.

You sensed the king’s eyes on you as you entered, setting down the tray with an even “your majesty” and an unwavering look. You knew that any flinch would be your undoing, the elvenking not so enigmatic as he believed himself. It was not difficult to surmise that your withdrawal from the stables had been of his deviation. _The only question which remained was why?_

 _Why would Thranduil, untouched and unconcerned by those beneath him, bother meddling with a servant?_ It had mystified you when he had asked your name in the gardens but now he seemed anything but talkative. You longed for him to say something, to explain himself, certain that he was aware of your understanding. That he was all too conscious that you knew of his machinations.

Yet, he did not speak. He merely speared a carrot upon the end of his fork and chewed in silence. A few more bites and he paused, wiping his lips as he looked to you, waiting patiently and quietly, for an order or a dismissal. One corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes glimmered. His lips parted and his voice drawled with satisfaction.

“Wine?” He gestured to the corked bottle, “If you would?”

You neared without hesitation, uncorking the decanter easily, and pouring the dark vintage into the clear crystalline glass before him. He smiled at the smooth flow of the liquid and was rather interested in the motion of you replacing the cork. Replacing the bottle upon the table and backing away, you held his staunch attention and his eyes never left you as he sipped from his stemmed cup.

“It is a rather beautiful night,” He mused, leaning back as he toyed with his fork, “A song with my dinner, perhaps?”

Thranduil’s haughty tone made every question an order and you knew this was one and the same. You could say no but that would only feed his arrogance and though you were a servant, you treasured your dignity. You cleared your throat, sure he had noticed the moment of consideration, but shrugging it off nonetheless. If he wanted a song, he would have a song.

_“There in the flower garden  
_ _I will die.  
_ _Among the rose bushes  
_ _They will kill me.  
_ _I was on my way,  
_ _Mother, to cut some roses;  
_ _There in the flower garden  
_ _I found my love,  
_ _There in the flower garden  
_ _They will kill me.”_

You finished singing, the chamber draining as Thranduil had set his fork down and ran a finger along the rim of his glass before suddenly applauding your performance. You did not bow nor smile nor preen, you nodded, as curtly as you could and remained quiet. Finishing his display, he tilted his head and sipped his wine as you saw him choosing his next words.

“Well, Y/N, your voice is as beautiful as I recall…though the song was less cheerful than I had hoped,” He grinned and you were assured of his connivance, “And I can see that, despite your patience, you have many questions for me.”

“I have none,” You assured him plainly, “Servants do not customarily ask anything of their masters.”

“Customarily?” He drawled with another gulp of wine, “My dear, there is nothing customary about this.”

You remained inert, a tension rising slowly up your spine and heat spreading across your flesh in goosepimples. You merely stayed silent and waited for him to continue, knowing that he longed to hear his own voice over yours.

“It is easy to grow bored when all are so eager to bow to your every whim,” He set down his empty glass, “Which is why I sent for you. A servant more defiant than any noble sitting on my council.”

“I have only ever served,” You protested dully, keeping any emotion from your voice, “Defiant is a most severe epithet.”

“Ahh, there it is,” He taunted, “You can hide behind your stiff words but I see the fire in your eyes…and how it burns most feverishly towards me.” He ran his long fingers through his silken hair, “I anger you. You hold it well but it’s plain enough.”

“My emotions are of no matter,” You could not deny that he did not provoke you, but it was more than anger, “More wine?”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, his thoughts brewing behind his pale eyes as he considered you, rubbing his fingers together cloyingly, “Only if you join me, Y/N,” He offered, leaning back though he was intent upon you, waiting for your next move.

“It is not proper,” You argued, hiding your surprise at such an offer, “I thank you, your majesty, but I should abstain.”

“Nonsense,” He stood, walking towards you, his movement swift and you nearly winced as he stepped past you, certain he was about to drag you to the table. Resisting the urge to crane your head and watch him, you merely listened as you heard the clasp and friction of wood and metal, “Sit.”

Thranduil passed by you again, his robe brushing against your skirts and you urged yourself forward. You would not protest, could not, knowing that any further argument would fuel his arrogance. You sat in the chair opposite him, keeping your back straight, as you watched him pour wine into the glass he had retrieved from the cabinet. He set it down before you and you eyed it wearily as he filled his own.

“Please,” He took up his own glass and examined the vintage, “Mirkwoodian wine is of the finest grapes in Middle Earth. Not many, certainly few servants, have the luxury of tasting it.”

You stared at him flatly, not moving as you watched him sip from his own glass. You hated boasting and had never been one for drinking. He raised a brow and lowered his glass, licking an errant drop from his lips.

“Drink,” His voice deepened and his gaze bore into you, “It is rude to refuse one’s generosity.”

Keeping your mouth from twisting into a frown, you took the glass, tilting it towards him in a gracious gesture before lifting it to your lips. You drank from it measuredly, tasting the liquid but withholding the pleasure of its flavour. You set the glass down, offering a small smile and another nod of your head.

“Very nice,” You allowed, his grin faltering as you said nothing further, withholding his gratification.

“Indeed,” He agreed before draining his own glass, his eyes straying at last as he searched the room for his thoughts, “You may clean this up and go.” He ordered, waving at the tray, “Leave the wine.”

You stood, keeping your own smile below the surface as you had fended him off successfully. You gathered his fork and knife onto the tray and lifted it from the table as he remained silent, stewing over his sore ego. You headed for the door, his voice stopping you for a moment before you could leave for good as he issued one final order, “Tomorrow morning. I expect you here before I wake.”

You carried on, letting the door close behind you, and issued a sigh to the empty corridor. There was to be no victory against the elvenking, only a stalemate in which you both suffered the obstinacy of each other. As you began down the hallway, you cringed, as you had forgotten to ask about returning to the stables, but you knew that you would have to stay if you were to keep your dignity.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader once more finds her world changing.

Thranduil had always been a sound sleeper but that night he was inconsolably  restless. He could barely close his eyes to dream for the thoughts swirling around in his head of the next day. It was a mystery which eluded him why his mind fixated on the stone-faced maid. She was not an immaculate beauty, no more or less attractive than the elvish ladies he encountered every day, but she intrigued him to his core. Perhaps it was the forbidden nature of his curiosity which aroused him so.

His eyes closed periodically though his slumber was shallow and unrewarding. Upon waking, his thoughts would return to Y/N and his heart would flutter wildly. It was only a few times that he managed to bury his head beneath the pillows and urge himself to unconsciousness before he gave up altogether. Sleep deprivation had never been much of an issue as it were.

He could sense the sky begin to slowly pale outside, dull light streaming through the glass of the balcony doors and wondered if the maid would appear on time. Were she late, he might just devise a fitting punishment. He had yet to see her squirm and the more she remained unperturbed by him, the more he longed for it. The night before, when she had tried to refuse a glass of wine, he had thought himself victorious, but she had simply deflected his challenge and left unscathed. Thranduil had never been left so disenchanted.

Before he could will himself to sit up, a knock came at the door and he called his welcome in return. He rose from beneath the silken covers and wrapped himself in a dressing robe as Y/N entered and he turned to find her setting down his breakfast upon the table. Already, she had averted any criticism he may have spoken.

Her hair was pulled tight, as always, neat and tidy, and her apron was a pure white over her pale cornflower gown. The wool was the plainest one could find but on her, it was radiant, her eyes appearing more vibrant as she focused on him unblinkingly. Thranduil tied his robe loosely, allowing the silk to hang slackly across his chest, revealing his collarbone and a peek of muscles. Hoping that his unkempt manner would gall the servant, he was sorely disheartened to receive no reaction, even as her eyes focused on him.

He sat at the table as she stood where she had the night before; patiently, silently, and he tried to plot his next move. He stabbed the bright yellow yolk of his egg, the liquid spreading across the plate as he watched it intently. He looked to Y/N, staring at the wall behind him and he wondered how any could live a life so dull. Sometimes, he dared to think of pitying the help but it only made him all the more thankful that he was king.

“Ahem,” He cleared his throat as he took a piece of bread and dipped it in the soft yolk, “Some tea.” He ordered and she moved swiftly to follow his order, “And you may fetch me my clothing for the day. The armoire…” He waved towards the rosewood furniture, “I am more than certain you can figure it out.”

“Your majesty,” She finished pouring his tea and crossed the room, the soft whisper of her skirts the only sound in the chamber.

Thranduil watched as she opened the door of the armoire and without consideration pulled forth a crimson lined robe of alabaster brocade. It was one of his favourites but she seemed little impressed; in fact, she appeared little concerned with finery at all. Next, she pulled forth a pair of fawn leggings to match, the very ones he would have chosen, and she easily found a pair of stockings in his chest of drawers and the boots neatly sorted within a small closet in the rear of the room.

“You may set them behind the screen,” He instructed and she nodded, he watched the sway of her skirts as she completed her task and returned to her former vigil, “You’re a quick learner.”

Her cheek twitched, as if tempted to respond, but she merely kept silent and watched him eat. She must have had years of practice which had taught her to steel herself against the arrogance of those she served. It only made his desire to crack her veneer even more delectable and he could have bit his lip at the thought of her dissemblance. His fascination was descending beyond his usual guile.

“Evin should have briefed you but I know he can be…short,” Thranduil began, spinning his fork between his fingers, “You are _my_ personal servant now,” He emphasized the possessive for effect and nearly grinned as he saw the tension lift her hairline, “You will accompany me throughout my day in case I should need of anything. Wine, messengers, what have you.”

Y/N clasped her hands but showed little emotion as she listened. _Was she merely taking the instruction to mind or was she fighting to conceal her discomfort?_ The latter was what Thranduil would prefer and so he continued on without pause, “I take my lunch in my solar and, as you will recall, my dinner in here, unless there is a feast.”

“Your majesty,” It was those words which thrilled him, reminding him that he could order her to do anything he wished. _Even…_

He shook away the thoughts which surprised even him. This was merely asserting his power, showing that he was the king and she was the servant. He had never appreciated defiance and though she did not openly show hers, it was obvious to him. He could feel it and it inflamed him. It had been a time since he had felt so…provoked.

“You may dispose of this,” He gulped down a mouthful of tea and set down the half-empty cup, standing as he stretched, pretending not to notice as his robe gaped across his chest, “I shall get dressed and when you return, I should be ready to depart on my daily duties.”

“Your majesty,” He watched as she gathered his scraps onto the tray, issuing a small bow before she lifted it.

Yet he noticed the subtle smile upon her lips but it was far from the one he would have liked. It was one of knowing, a crafty expression which betrayed his own ploy. In the moment their eyes met, he knew that she had seen through him and his scheme. She was calling his bluff and she turned around boldly, her skirts swirling around her as she neared the door and the king withheld a sigh. He would have to try harder.

* * *

It was the final meeting of the day and you held back a yawn as you stood in the corner of the council chamber, watching the long table of elvish nobles. Thranduil made no effort to hide his yawns and dismissed his counselors, visibly irritated by their tedious words. As the prim-faced elves left with respectful bows, the king stood and grimaced at their backs. His eyes searched the room before landing on you and the tension ebbed from his features, replaced by a hint of menace.

“Ah, I nearly forgot about you,” He drawled as his lips curved slightly, “Well, it should be time for dinner by the time we reach my chambers.”

He stared at you expectantly and you bowed your head, “Your majesty,” The words starting to taste bitter on your tongue.

You stepped past him and made for the door, the weight of his eyes upon you as you moved. That morning, he had barely looked away from you and throughout the day you had found him glancing at you now and again. You were unsure of his motives, only that he wanted you to fold, and you vowed to keep your composure. He could have you fetch his meals and his clothing, but he could not take your pride.

“Do not forget the wine,” He added as you reached the doorway, “White.”

You gave a nod, showing that you had heard him and rushed into the corridor. The kitchens would be busy and it would take you long enough as it was to have a tray set. A sojourn to the wine cellar only added to that and you knew Thranduil would relish any chance to reprimand you. Should you take longer than he wished, he would surely seize the opportunity.

The kitchens were steaming and noisy but as your tray was meant for the king, it arrived quickly. The cellar was deathly quiet in contrast and you lingered a moment to bask in the serenity of your solitude. It would almost be worth Thranduil’s ridicule to postpone longer but your sense got the better of you. Tucking a bottle under your arm, you hitched the tray upon your shoulder and set out for the royal chambers.

You knocked upon the door with your elbow, careful to keep the tray balanced and an answer came without pause. You entered, Thranduil running his fingers through his smooth tresses as he tore his gaze from beyond the open balcony doors. Outside, the sun was setting and a pale violet coloured the sky, casting whimsical shadow across the forest.

“You are always exquisitely prompt,” He commented as he neared the table where you set down the tray and bottle, removing the lid to reveal the night’s fare. It was an envious spread compared to the tripe that was served to the help, “Although, I don’t recall the cellar being so distant.”

“Your majesty,” You offered no excuse as you backed away and took up your observance.

“Y/N,” He picked up the clean crystal glass, gesturing towards you with it, “A drink with dinner? I did not request the bottle merely to admire it.”

You swallowed a retort and stepped forward with a forced smile, uncorking the bottle and pouring the golden nectar precisely. You bowed your head as you set down the wine and his eyes remained on you a moment, the flicker behind them nipping at your patience. You folded one hand over the other and waited, counting in your head as he began to pick at his plate.

“I should like a bath drawn,” He said as half of his plate had been cleared, “If you would.”

“Certainly, your majesty,” You paid your obeisance and passed into the bath chamber, listening to the soft scrape of his fork upon the dish.

Within, you crossed to the large gilt pump which curved over the porcelain bath and began to work it. The effort was more than you expected and by the time you had it flowing steadily, you had sweat on your brow and a weight in your chest. You wiped your forehead with your apron and turned just as Thranduil entered, dropping the skirt of your smock back in place.

“I’ll see to the faucet,” He informed you, unbuttoning the collar of his robe dismissively, “You can tend to the dishes.”

“Your majesty,” You nearly blanched as he showed no modesty in undressing and before you could scurry into the bed chamber, he had bared nearly his entire chest.

You tidied his leftovers, weighing the bottle in your hand to find it half-empty. You set it back with his glass, knowing he would likely finish it by the end of the night as he had before. You returned the dirtied dishes to the kitchen, Lottie taking it from you with curious eyes. You could see she was eager to ask a dozen questions but your expression held her at bay.

Returning to the chamber, you went over every piece of furniture and inch of the room with a keen eye. You did not want the king to find fault with your duty and you would not let him get the best of you again this night. You stood just inside the open balcony doors, a fragrant summer breeze cooling you but you kicked yourself back into movement as Thranduil re-entered, his dressing robe wrapped around him.

You stilled yourself as the king sat at his vanity, his hair damp and as messy as it could be. His eyes met yours in the mirror and he smirked, tossing his locks behind his shoulders. He picked up a horsehair brush carved from ebony and examined the intricate designed engraved along the handle. He looked away and the slant of his lips unsettled you.

“A song,” He requested, or rather, commanded, “While you brush my hair.”

He held the brush over his shoulder towards you without looking and you resented his terseness. Slowly, you approached, muzzling yourself as you took the brush from him and searched your mind for a song. With any luck, the music would distract you from such an ignoble task. You inhaled deeply, pulling the bristles through the first strands of his hair.

 _“Summer has come in,_  
Loudly sing, Cuckoo!  
The seed grows and the meadow blooms  
And the wood springs anew,  
Sing, Cuckoo!  
The ewe bleats after the lamb  
The cow lows after the calf.  
The bullock stirs, the stag farts,  
Merrily sing, Cuckoo!  
Cuckoo, cuckoo, well you sing, cuckoo;  
Don’t you ever stop now,   
Sing cuckoo now.   
Sing, Cuckoo. Sing Cuckoo.   
Sing cuckoo now!”

You continued to warble as you brushed his hair, resisting the urge to tug it most unceremoniously. As his locks hung smooth and untangled down his broad shoulders, you ceased your singing and set the brush down on his vanity. He was smiling as he looked to you, a peculiar shine in his eyes.

“Very lovely,” He commented as you backed away and hoped he would dismiss you for the night. Surely, he would be pleased when you had willingly bent to his servile requests. Yet, you could see in that he had little intent of releasing you so soon and thus you waited, refusing to falter.

“Y/N,” He stood, pushing back the chair suddenly and turning to you, “There is one other thing we must sort out before this night is over.”

“Your majesty,” You feigned interest, resigned to whatever double-edged chore he had in mind.

“If you would follow me,” He straightened his robe so that it fully covered his chest and led you to the tall doors, pushing one open and waving you to join him. “It would be simpler,” He explained as he led you down the corridor, “If you were to reside close by, opposed to the servants’ quarters so far away.”

You stayed silent as he stopped before a door not far from his own, small and unremarkable, and stirred around in the pocket of his dressing robe. He took out a king and held it out to you, “This will be your new chamber. You may return to your own this night, of course, bid your farewells and gather your belongings.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” You were less than pleased by the gesture, another ploy of his. A tactic to flex his power over you. You took the key from him and pretended to examine it, revealing none of your reluctance.

“My pleasure,” His smirk grew and you reined in your inner turmoil; any hope of returning to the stables was gone.

You bowed to him with every ounce of formality before turning away, keeping your posture rigid until you turned the corner. Freed from his constant gaze, you scowled at the corridor and shook your head. If the king thought it would be so easy to win, he was a fool.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader moves in and finds her duties getting more intimate.

The next morning, you arrived in your new quarters early, setting down the few possessions you had as a servant. Most of what you owned were uniforms and so the small chest of drawers beside the single-person bed was only half-filled. You glanced in the mirror placed in a walnut frame; you had never had one in your chambers before. The bed itself was nicely decorated; a pillow thicker than any you had used before and the blankets soft beneath your fingertips.

You were pleasantly surprised at the care taken in preparing the room but an underlying foreboding sunk in your chest. Thranduil likely saw it as another strike against you; another debt you owed him. You left before you could become too lost in your thoughts and hurried to the kitchens to fetch the king’s breakfast. You returned with a tray at your shoulder and knocked tepidly upon the doors of the royal chamber, uncomfortably close your own.

The elvenking’s voice sounded from within and you inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for another day of service. You entered to find the king sitting at the table expectantly and you set down your tray before him with a “your majesty” and a bow. He seemed pleased at your prostration and his eyes grazed over you with menace. He no doubt had more in mind than a mere change in residence.

A tense silence pervaded the chamber as he ate and you went about your morning duties, retrieving him an outfit for the day and leaving it behind the birch screen decorated with finely painted lilacs and ivy. You could feel him watching you as you searched the room for any mess to be neatened and finally took your vigil, awaiting an order from the unusually quiet king. Though he had little to say, you could see the calculation in his eyes and it was worse than any order he could have issued you.

Thranduil rose deliberately from his seat, brushing aside his bare plate and you began to tidy the scraps onto the tray. He passed you, closer than you would have like, his dressing robe catching your skirts. You resisted the urge to look at him, knowing there had to be a grin upon his face. You merely lifted the tray and balanced it on your shoulder dutifully, his voice keeping you from a brisk exit.

“Do try to hasten,” He intoned, “And a bottle of wine should be appropriate. I have a rather long day, beginning with an undoubtedly tiresome meeting with Lord Iwan this morning. He is old and rather…” The king lifted a brow dryly, “…tedious.”

You nodded and turned, angling the tray through the door as you opened it awkwardly with your free arm. He had not made any specific request for what kind of wine he preferred and you knew it must have been a trick. Likely, he was expecting a vintage so obscure that you could not possibly guess at it. _Well, you could play his games just as well._

Renae, a long-time maid in the halls of Mirkwood, was relinquishing her own tray at the kitchens when you arrived. You stopped her before she could disappear, her greying hair paled the blue of her irises as she looked to you with reservation. Many of the native servants had yet to accommodate their Rivendell counterparts. She cleared her throat and waited for your entreaty.

“Do you know Lord, uh…Iwan?” You asked, nearly forgetting the name, “Do you know which wine he prefers, perhaps?”

“Hmm, I may,” She pursed her lips wryly, “What’s in it for me to say?”

“I, oh…” You bit your lips a you thought, recalling the new chamber you had been provided, “A new pillow. Feather. All yours if you tell me.”

“A pillow?” Her eyes twinkled, “I’d sell you my left foot for a pillow but an answer’s just as well.” The stone returned to her pointed face as she continued, “But you don’t come through on this deal and I’ll make you pay, girly.”

“I’ll have the pillow at your chamber this night,” You avowed and she smiled, a wave of relief washing over you.

“Iwan hates Mirkwood swill,” Iwan explained as she picked at a finger nail, “You find a Man-crafted wine and he’ll not give you much fuss.”

“Oh, thank you,” You nearly seized her hand but instead grinned and resisted the urge to bow, “Pleasure doing business.”

You twirled quickly, setting out for the cellars, finding them thankfully empty. Despite having deciphered Thranduil’s challenge, you would likely take much too long to keep him placated. You searched out a wine from Bree and cradled it tightly as you raced down the corridors. You stopped just before the royal chambers to catch your breath and straighten your appearance, nearing with decisive steps and knocking calmly, though your heart still pattered.

“Come in,” Thranduil welcomed from the other side and you obeyed without hesitation.

He had dressed in the pale slate robe you had set out for him, a tightly-woven silk lined with cobalt satin. His white leather boots were laced tightly over his flint-hued trousers, legs crossed nonchalantly. His hair hung smoothly down his shoulders and he leaned in his chair expectantly as you crossed to him and presented him the bottle. His grin flickered and he swallowed subtly, standing as he took the wine from you.

“A fine choice,” He praised thinly as he inspected the label, “Lord Iwan will be please.”

He handed back the bottle as you resisted a smile and he stepped around you, his movements betrayed his disappointment. You followed him a few feet back as was customary but he paused as he reached for the door and turned back as you barely kept yourself from tumbling. He tilted his head and you could see the calculation in his eyes.

“Next time, do try to be quicker,” He censured with obvious pleasure, “Lord Iwan is not one to be kept waiting.”

He turned around and opened the door as you clenched your jaw in irritation. He had surely been right when he had predicted a long day ahead.

* * *

Thranduil looked over at the maid as he sat at the head of the long table, the hall rowdy with the voices of his nobles. Feasts were common in Mirkwood, at least one night of the week he was forced to dine with those mewling for his favour. He caught Y/N’s eyes as they dully roved across the expanse of the diners and he waved to her in a subtle gesture with two fingers. He lifted his crystal goblet in his other hand and she nodded in understanding.

Though he had merely acquired her out of his own intrigue, he found her to be rather adept at her job. Throughout the day, he had imbibed at least half a dozen goblets of wine and even his elvish constitution was beginning to waver. As she left, his eyes follow the draping of her skirt and he found himself meandering on thoughts of what lay beneath. Inhaling sharply, he brought his posture up and forced his attention the lords and ladies sat around him.

He would have to tolerate little longer of these staunch nobles and found himself yearning to be alone in his chambers. He combed back his long blond hair with his fingers and Y/N reappeared through the doorway, dutifully approaching with the bottle of wine. She poured without request and he took up his glass with nodded gratitude. _Well, he did not exactly want to be alone._

She stood in the corner once more, hands folded, eyes alert, looking more respectable than any other in the hall. Thranduil pushed aside the blackberry tart, the wine enough to quell his hunger and drank it with fervor. He pushed back his chair noisily, the drone of voices hushing as he stood, and he flourished a hand to the table.

“I shall retire for the night,” He announced without ado, barely audible to most, “As you will.”

He turned swiftly, his robe sweeping out and he gestured for his servant to follow and bring the wine. He heard her retrieve the bottle and her soft footsteps behind him as he exited through the side door. The back corridors were quiet and rarely used by any but the king. They were labyrinthine in their structure but led covertly to his chambers. They arrived quicker than they would have otherwise and he waited for Y/N to enter first.

She held the door for him, her understanding of his moods was at times impressive and others, frustrating. It was what intrigued him so and yet, why he insisted upon testing her. She took a wine glass from the cabinet above the mantle and filled it, offering it to him without a word. _Was his chagrin so plain? Could she see all that lay within him or was it the alcohol overtaking his wits?_

He took it with an exaggerated courtesy as she closed the door he had left open and he sat before his vanity as he had the night before. He sipped from the crystal and placed it before the mirror, lifting the brush and holding it over his shoulder with a smirk.

“Another song?” It was not a question of course and she did not refuse, though her approach was heavy with reluctance.

She took the brush from him and he glanced at her reflection, seeing the disgruntled wrinkle in her forehead. Her face smoothed as their eyes met and she lifted the bristles to his head, her chest rising as she conjured a song.

 _“Of all the money e'er I had,_  
I spent it in good company.  
And all the harm I’ve ever done,  
Alas! it was to none but me.  
And all I’ve done for want of wit  
To mem'ry now I can’t recall  
So fill to me the parting glass  
Good night and joy be with you all.”

Her voice picked up and as he listened to the lyrics, he could not look away. The way her notes carried on the night air was intoxicating and the manner in which the tones flushed her features was all the more hypnotic. When she sang, it seemed that all her troubles faded away and she revealed the crux of her true being.   
  
_“Oh, all the comrades e'er I had,_  
They’re sorry for my going away,  
And all the sweethearts e'er I had,  
They’d wish me one more day to stay,  
But since it falls unto my lot,  
That I should rise and you should not,  
I gently rise and softly call,  
That I should go and you should not,  
Good night and joy be with you all.”

Thranduil drank from his glass once more, careful not to move his head overly much as she continued her song. He watched her as she pretended not to notice his gaze and wondered if she looked as lovely when she was at her leisure. Or even laying down. _Surely,_ he told himself, _the wine was stronger than usual.  
_  
 _“If I had money enough to spend,_  
And leisure time to sit awhile,  
There is a fair maid in this town,  
That sorely has my heart beguiled.  
Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips,  
I own she has my heart in thrall,  
Then fill to me the parting glass,  
Good night and joy be with you all.”

She finished and made to set down the brush, but Thranduil caught her hand and gently took the brush from her. He stood and her surprise was obvious, for once she was unable to withhold her emotion. He grinned at her, motioning to the chair and she shook her head in confusion.

“Please, sit,” He insisted, “It’s been a long day. You’ve been on your feet for most of it.”

“Your majesty,” Were she any other, her voice would have quavered, but she held herself steady, “I am on my feet for most of any day.”

“I said sit,” He commanded, his kingly tone coming naturally, “A loyal servant does not question her king, does she?”

She swallowed his challenged, the action drawing his attention to her throat, much of it hidden by her high collar. She raised her chin and turned away, lowering herself into the chair stiffly and clasping her hands, one over the other. She waited, patiently but anxiously, uncertain of his motives and it sent a thrill through him.

“Allow me,” He ran a finger along her bound hair, “If you would.”

She hesitated, her hand clutching tighter before they released and carefully she reached up to fumble with her hair. She kept her eyes averted even as he searched for them in the mirror and her uncharacteristic reticence enlivened him. She removed the pins which heeld up her tresses and they spilled down her back, the colour vibrant in the lamp light. Pulled back so tightly, he had never noticed how rich the tones.

“It is not customary for elves to wear their hair bound,” He mused as he smoothed her locks first with his fingers, “The other servants, even, wear theirs loose.”

“I am not other servants,” She asserted but he saw the regret instantaneously; she had failed to restrain herself under such duress, “It is easier to work without it getting in my way.”

“Of course,” He marveled as he pulled the bristle through her hair for the first time, letting the soft strands fall against his palm, “It would make your duties simpler…but it is much to beautiful to keep hidden.”

“I prefer it up,” She contended stubbornly, “Really, your majesty, I can brush my own hair.”

“You can, but I would rather do it myself,” He smirked and she glared into the mirror, finally meeting his gaze, “I find it calming.”

He cleared his throat and tried to recall a lyric he knew well enough to recite. When he began to sing, Y/N appeared stunned but once more her emotion receded and she listened with a placid expression.

 _“Enraptured I Gaze, when my Delia is by,_  
And drink the sweet poison of love from her eye;  
I feel the soft passion pervade ev'ry part,  
And pleasures unusual play round my fond heart.  
  
I hear her sweet voice, and am charm’d with her song,  
I think I could hear her sweet voice all day long;  
My senses enchanted are lost in delight  
When love and soft music their rapture unite.  
  
Beyond all expression my Delia I love;  
My heart is so fix’d that it never can rove;  
When I see her I think ‘tis an angel I see,  
And the charms of her mind are a heav'n to me.”

He finished singing, pleased to find a faint blush to her cheeks as he continued to brush her hair. She reached back and stilled his work, rising as she lowered his hand with a gentle nudge and she swiped her hair away from her face. She collected the pins from the table and retreated. He was pleased that he had managed to vex her but her reaction disheartened him at the same time.

“Your majesty, I believe you’ve imbibed far too much,” She stiffened her lips and looked around restlessly, “I think it best you lay down and I retire to my chamber.”

“Perhaps that would be best,” He agreed, hiding his disappointment, “You must be tired from such a day.”

She said nothing else and bowed to him, her skirts fluttering as she scurried towards the door and he watched her intently. The door closed behind her and he smirked, twirling the brush in his hand with a chuckle. He was getting closer and he would not be kept from the spoils of his conquest.


	5. Chapter 5

You were exhausted but the events of the day had kept you tossing and turning. You had been so disconcerted by Thranduil that you could not stop thinking of him brushing your hair. The way his fingers had caressed the length of your locks and how, despite your resolve, it had felt rather pleasant. No one had ever touched you so delicately and yet the look in his eyes, animalistic and close to predatory, had impugned the tenderness of his actions.

With the morning upon you, you rose and steeled yourself for the day to come. You knew another mistake would be the end of you. Thranduil may be king but he would not rule over you entirely. You pulled on the plain blue gown of your station and laced the back tightly, making sure the collar was buttoned stiffly against your neck. You tied the strings of your apron and pinned your hair behind your head, your cheeks tingling as you recalled how Thranduil had praised it.

You stepped out into the corridors, a sidelong look at the royal doors before you continued on to the kitchens. You ate your breakfast quickly; bland porridge and a heel of bread before taking Thranduil’s on your shoulder. The fare he was offered was enviable compared to the flavorless sludge you were fed but you could only imagine the exquisite tastes. You kept your mind from the aroma of the food as your thoughts returned to more pertinent concerns.

The king would no doubt be planning his next move, how he would crumble you once and for all. You could not let him win that easily and so you set the stone behind your eyes, determining to keep your cards close. Whatever he may do, you could not falter, would not, and you would not be the first to fall.

You knocked on his door, your spirit empowered and your welcome came shortly. You entered with a serene expression, one which bespoke nothing of what transpired the night before. Thranduil sat in his dressing robe, preening over an unrolled parchment as his robe hung open across his chest. If he thought a hint of flesh would be your undoing, he was surely mistaken.

You placed the tray before him carefully. “Your majesty,” Your voice was pristine, unsplintered by your sleepless night. He looked up at you, the hopeful bemusement darkened by your lack of reaction. He must have thought you had spent the hours fretting over your predicament, dreaming about him. It was not that you hadn’t lost sleep over him, it was that it had not been lost in reverie of his person.

“Y/N,” He slithered as you poured him his tea, “You look well rested.”

“As do you, your majesty,” You offered boldly, “The wine has treated you well.”

“It did,” He grinned as he lifted the cup to his lips, pausing as he looked you over. He was trying to make you twitch but even as poignant a leer as that would not pierce your armour, “As it always has.”

You went about gathering his outfit for the day and going over your daily chores, though few there were. The heat of his stare surrounded you but you ignored it, imagining you were in the garden pruning roses. His voice cut at your fantasy however and you turned back, taking up observance by the table.

“Your hair,” He mused slyly, “I did so prefer it loose.”

“I am here to serve your majesty,” You answered precisely, “But I would hope that I should at least hold mastery over mine own body.”

“Hmm,” Blatantly, his eyes explored the folds of your gown, searching for what was hidden within and it nearly, just nearly, made you squirm, “I suppose you do.”

You bowed your head and he fell silent, returning his attention to his meal. You waited for him to finish and when he did, he remained quiet. He passed by you closely but did not say a word. He changed his clothes behind the screen but you kept your eyes towards the wall. He emerged and brushed his hair swiftly, turning to you expectantly as he made for the door.

“Let us be off, Y/N,” He opened the door and held it as if to let your through first; you paused, a royal offering such a courtesy was unheard of.

You lifted your chin and passed through, knowing to deny him, was to let the scale tip. He followed you through but you kept your pace measured so that he walked ahead of you through the corridors. You watched him, shoulders broad and posture lithe, but you could see the thoughts on the back of his head. He was desperately grasping for an advantage and has thus far failed to do more than open a door.

* * *

Council was running long. You did not need to look at a dial or glass as the king’s impatient shifting was more than enough indication. You stood near the far wall, waiting for a request to pour a drink or to retrieve an important scroll or book forgotten elsewhere in the palace. You had filled goblets at the beginning of the session and intermittently for those who were avid drinkers.

Lord Nethon, a fine-looking elf and wealthier of the lot, recent inheritor of his father’s title, fidgeted in his chair. The movement caused the parchment before him to flutter and he did not notice as a small square slipped to the floor. Without thinking, in your habit of servitude, you stepped forward silently. The elven noble sat further along the table and you retrieved the small scroll swiftly.

You placed it gently on the table beside the rest of his papers and he looked up in surprise, a friendly smile upon his face. He whispered a thank you and his manner, ever cheerful, was contagious. You smiled back despite your innate cynicism and you bowed your head. The chatter of the other lords had continued and your exchange went unnoticed by all but one.

You sensed a pair of eyes upon you and as you looked up, lips still slightly curved and returned to your place by the wall, Thranduil’s sharp gaze followed you. Slowly your smile fell but not quick enough to appear to have anything to do with the king. He watched you for a moment before he peered at Nethon and his lip curled dangerously. Without intent, you had moved another piece across the board and your adversary found himself cornered.

As the meeting came to an end, you nearly felt guilty for drawing the young lord unwittingly into your battle with the king. For the duration of council, Thranduil had continued to fixate on Nethon and you had offered to refill the young lord’s goblet, though it was only half-empty. As the noble elves trickled out, none, not even Nethon, had noticed the subtle interaction between master and servant.

“Y/N,” He uttered rigidly as he rose, “My supper is past due.” He neared, passing by without pause as he spoke, “Bring it to my chambers as usual…and wine. Pick something you like.”

He left you without another look and you smirked to yourself devilishly. You could see the sense the irritation which fed his brusqueness and knew him to be plotting his own move. You were confident he would not do so successfully and so you whisked from the room, skirts sweeping the marble, as you hurried to fetch the king’s evening meal.

You took the tray and eagerly made for the cellars. You had no discerning eye for the rows of bottles but the wine you had sipped the first night was not detestable. You knew, in your limited experience, that you preferred dark wines and so you took a bottle of red and tucked it into the large pocket of your apron. Your journey back to the royal chambers allowed you time to hide your boastful smile and you knocked at the door with indifference on your sleeve.

You entered at the response of the king and you found as you often did, sitting at his table, finger tapping impatiently upon the surface. He stilled his hand as you neared and set down the tray before him and offering the bottle of wine. He had placed two crystal glasses upon the tabletop and he glanced at the chair expectantly. Even so, you could see that he was still annoyed about council.

“Sit,” He order in a voice you dared not refuse; you obeyed him swiftly, “Some wine. For both of us.”

You poured and he began to pick at his food with his fork, mashing a boiled carrot without eating it. He set down his cutlery and instead sipped from his glass, his silver eyes once more finding you. “You may share of my meal, should you wish. They always send too much.”

“No thank you,” You deflected kindly, “Though your offer is kind.”

“I insist on the wine, then,” He nudged your glass closer with his fingers, “You chose a fine vintage.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” You took the stem between index and thumb, steadying it with your middle finger.

You sipped daintily from the rim as he watched you with subdued interest and he went back to poking at his food. He seemed repulsed by his plate and dropped his fork thereafter, gulping the rest of his wine easily. He poured himself another and you stifled your words by drinking your own. He finished the next glass and rose, his hands subtly rising to the collar of his robe.

“I should like a breath of air,” He announced and turned to the balcony, “Join me.”

You set down your glass and stood, following him at a distance as he opened the doors and stepped out into the night. The sky was filled with sparkling stars and the moon shone down with an open face. His hands dropped to the rail of the balcony and he inhaled deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with his breath.

“Come on,” He waved you forward to stand with him, “It’s a lovely night.”

You stepped to the rail, keeping a space between you and the king. His eyes were fixed upon the skyline, his collar undone and baring the line of his collar bone. You looked to the dark sky, the black tapestry flecked with silver. You sensed Thranduil’s hand moving along the railing until it was just beside yours and though you did not look, you knew he was watching you.

“The only thing that could make such a night better would be a song,” He intoned duskily, “I’m certain you know something fitting the occasion.”

Holding back a grin, you conjured lyrics in your head and kept your attention on the stars. _Did he really think having you sing like some jester was really going to affect you so profoundly?_

 _“Sleep my child and peace attend thee,_  
All through the night  
Guardian angels God will send thee,  
All through the night  
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping  
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,  
I my loving vigil keeping  
All through the night.  
  
While the moon her watch is keeping  
All through the night  
While the weary world is sleeping  
All through the night  
O'er they spirit gently stealing  
Visions of delight revealing  
Breathes a pure and holy feeling  
All through the night.  
  
Love, to thee my thoughts are turning  
All through the night  
All for thee my heart is yearning,  
All through the night.  
Though sad fate our lives may sever  
Parting will not last forever,  
There’s a hope that leaves me never,  
All through the night.”

Your melody ended and you could not look away from the moon. Despite yourself, the beauty of the night had taken you and the song had made your chest stir. You sensed Thranduil moving nearer until he stood right beside you. He leaned in as he spoke, one hand rising to point into the distance of the sky as he spoke in a low drawl.

“That star there,” He explained as you felt his warmth against you, “Is named for an elvish maiden.” As he spoke, he leaned closer and his lips lightly grazed your cheek, “It is said that when she passed to the land of the undying, a piece of her heart was left behind and her lover tossed it into the sky to look down upon him for the rest of his life.”

Your breath was caught but only for a moment as you regained your composure. You searched the nightscape as if you could read the stars and backed away to look at the king. “A fanciful story,” You allowed without a smile, “But I’ve never been one for those romantic tales.”

Thranduil’s passionate gaze dulled as your words sunk in the air and you would have grinned if he would not have mistaken it for his own victory. You had known that his lips would have found yours had you shown any of the pleasure you truly felt. That excitement which you had not expected and thus held back with all your will. You did not want him to win just yet. He may be king but he would not be the one to rule all.

“No, you wouldn’t be,” His eyes narrowed slightly and he looked back to the night, “As you will,” He waved over his shoulder lazily, “I can see to my own vanity.”

You bowed and edged away from the rail as he ignored your presence. Though he fought to seem aloof, you could see the twitch in his lips. Already you could tell that he was thinking of the next day and you were more than willing to leave him to his scheming. You had your own to do and you could sleep soundly knowing that you were to do so the victor.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader outfoxes Thranduil.

Banal hours had passed as Thranduil lay in bed, his mind contorting as he sought some plot to best the wily maid. Among his fruitless machinations, he fell into a deep sleep though he continued to writhe beneath his blankets. Even in his subconscious he could not escape the servant and his head conjured images of her as he sunk into the abyss.

There was little sense to his dreams, Y/N’s face appearing and disappearing before him. Even so, his heart raced and he awoke in a cold sweat, fighting to catch his breath. As his chest steadied, he felt a warmth upon it and looked down to see a finely formed hand atop his bare flesh. Following the exposed skin of the arm, he found Y/N looking back at him with a lusty gaze and her lips parted enticingly.

Thranduil grinned as he felt himself growing aroused, surprised that she had the gall to sneak into his bed so. Her hand began to move towards his rising excitement and he let himself relax against his pillow, reaching out to trace the line of her jaw and admiring that of her throat. Her stiff collar had left much to the imagination but it was even more exquisite than he had expected. As his fingers touched her chin, he was jolted suddenly by a knocking at the door and before he could warn the maid to hide, she had disappeared and his eyes had opened to the reality of the dawn.

It had been but a dream, he realized as he sat up, the rapping comingonce more at the door. He pushed his hair away from his sweaty forehead, finding himself to be as riled as he was in his fantasy. He forced himself out of bed and found his dressing robe, taking his usual seat at the maple table where he could hide his rampant desire. He called to the door, knowing it was her, and she entered with tray in hand as she had every morning before.

Y/N set the tray before him and poured his tea dutifully, her fine lashes seemed longer as she focused on her work. He could think of nothing to say as he pulled at his robe, trying to conceal his arousal as it showed no hint of receding. She blissfully remained ignorant to his condition and as she set about selecting his outfit for the day, he drank the hot tea penitently and hoped it would cleanse his sins.

He willed himself to cease his fascination as he found himself even more inflamed and as she returned to wait by the table, he was fit to stand. He looked her over, not wanting to betray his discomfort and before he could cause himself any further excitement, he turned and hid himself behind the screen. Slowly he undressed and donned the scarlet robe she had chosen and the accompanying leggings. His boots were laced with reluctance and he bided himself long enough to regain his composure.

He emerged to find her as stoic as ever, awaiting him, and he flicked his fingers at her in a wordless command. She followed him out the tall doors, closing them behind herself, and he listened to the light padding of her slippers on the floors as she trailed him. He was tempted to send her for wine but he had found his wits slipping when mixed with alcohol and he wished to go a full day without proving himself a fool to this servant.

His first meeting was dull but was followed by tedious hours of sitting on his throne and listening to the complaints of his subjects. Granting his judgments and restitution, he tired and hid a yawn behind his hand, waving away the last of his visitors. Y/N approached, offering him a goblet of lemon water which he took gladly as he rose.

“To council,” He grumbled as he walked the expanse of his throne room, “Do fetch wine for our dear counselors. Perhaps it will save us some hours.”

She took the other corridor as they exited and he watched her go, growling at himself as he felt another stirring below. His sleep had done little but agitate him and he could think of no way to regain the upper hand. He wandered aimlessly to the council chambers, the nobles already there, and as he entered, Y/N was pouring Lord Nethon a glass of golden wine. He may have been a bit too lackadaisical in his pace.

Thranduil passed her, the breeze of his motion causing her skirts to ruffle and she retreated to the wall where she stood with a bold grin. She was provoking him, deliberately, in the presence of his counselors. _How insolent she was. T_ he king gulped back his annoyance as he sat and he waved her forward and she approached with measured steps.

“Lemon water,” He ordered as he pushed aside the goblet of wine waiting for him, “I told you I am not of the mood for wine.”

She nodded and turned away, her feet carrying her to the door swiftly as she went in search of a clean goblet. With her on an errand, he could gain his focus and see that Lord Nethon was put in his place. It would be easy enough to order a piece of his lands be seized for royal cultivation but that was too obvious. He would need to be careful; there was time enough to come up with a just punishment.

Y/N re-entered as talks had picked up and lords argued over the feast which would mark the summer solstice. Thranduil cared little as every banquet was  the same as the one before and he was more interested in his servant’s smile. Once more, her eyes had met Nethon’s and the young lordling was cheerfully smirking back, twirling a quill between his fingers.

Thranduil cracked his neck as he swallowed his wrath and sighed quietly as he leaned his chin in his hand. He offered a careless request for a harpist at the feast but cared little if it was carried out. He would much rather hear one of Y/N’s ballads; the way her voice floated was soothing and as he recalled the tones, his anger dwindled. His thoughts lingered on her but to his chagrin, wandered to his lurid dreams.

The image of her hand on his chest, the weight of it had felt so real, and how he had awoken so aroused. He shifted in his chair, fighting back his rising lust as he looked down the table once more. His were not the only eyes on Y/N and Nethon’s incessant staring was grating on his nerves. He cleared his throat loudly and the nobles quieted.

“We should not waste precious council time debating such trivial matters,” Thranduil sneered, “Lord Nethon,” His tone was decisive, “As our youngest lord, this would be a ripe opportunity to prove yourself. I shall leave the planning of the solstice to you.”

“Your majesty, you honour me,” The formality only added to the king’s irritation.

“Yes, yes, now, please, if that is all for today?” It was not so much a question as an order, “You may go.”

In a moment of tense confusion, the lords glanced at each other and stood cautiously, languidly making their way to the doors. Y/N remained and Thranduil stood as the last of the nobles exited. He stared at her and her unaffected demeanour was even more exasperating than Nethon’s endless joy. He wanted desperately to seize her and wipe the guile from her face.

* * *

You watched as Thranduil snarled at the backs of his counselors and you would have been amused if the air was not so tense. He was more annoyed than you had ever seen him and you could fathom that some of it was due to you. Admittedly, you had drawn Nethon into your little game but you had not thought he would be so potent a weapon.

The king rose, inhaling deeply as he crossed the chamber and closed the doors sharply. He turned back, his fingers pulling at one of his pale tresses as he fought silently with himself. He stopped before you on his heel and looked at you as if recalling your presence. He tilted his head darkly as he considered you and his silver eyes dilated dangerously.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He accused and you were shaken from your patient stupor.

“I haven’t any idea what you mean,” You returned evenly, making sure your eyes widened innocently.

“Don’t think me a fool, Y/N,” He growled, “I am not the one being so naïve.”

“Your majesty?” You kept your voice chaste and you gaze steady, “I’ve not done anything but my duty.”

“Bah,” He scoffed and seethed as he began to pace back and forth before you, “You’ve no idea what you are doing. Lord Nethon is not one to be trusted. If only you knew the stock he was born of you would not be acting so loosely.”

“Loose?” You echoed, stunned by the allegation, “Am I forbidden from pouring wine for another? You’ve not seemed to take issue with it before.”

“It is not unheard of for nobles, especially those younger ones with little discipline, to take up with the help,” He quit his pacing and neared you once more, “And Lord Nethon has already enough experience with maids.”

“Is it not?” You challenged wryly, “I have never acted anything but a servant. I have done nothing to warrant such accusations. You, however…” You trailed off, realizing that your words were treacherous.

Thranduil’s eyes closed in frustration, his shoulders rising as he breathed deeply and you could see him struggling to keep calm. His eyes shot open suddenly and before you could brace yourself, his hands seized you, one under your jaw and the other at your cheek as he bent to kiss you. He pushed you against the wall as if want to devour you. You gathered your wits at the realization of what was happening and the king’s mouth stilled as if he too had come to his senses. He pulled away, avoiding your gaze and he turned away to hide the colour in his cheeks.

“My dinner,” He said in a brittle voice, “I expect it in my chambers forthwith.”

He kept his back to you, righting his posture as he listened for your departure. You gathered yourself and uttered a numb “your majesty” before rushing to the doors. You had pushed him further than intended, but despite your surprise, you were invigorated by your triumph.

The kitchens were hectic and you waited longer than you wished for a tray. As you walked the corridors, you knew that Thranduil would be ecstatic at the chance to berate your tardiness. You reached the royal doors and knocked, steeling yourself for the onslaught. Every high must have a low. You were ordered to enter and you did so to an unforeseen silence.

The king kept his eyes to the hearth as you set down his dinner and he did not even request a drink. About to station yourself in your usual spot, his voice came in low rumble, one which set you at unease. “I shall take my dinner alone,” He did not so much as move as he spoke, “Go. Enjoy a night of rest.”

You hesitated but only slightly before you retreated, only too eager to be on the other side of the doors. You swept out into the corridors and to your own chamber, lighting the single lantern as you sat anxiously atop your bed. _Would Thranduil send you back to the stables? Was he so ashamed of his misstep? Had you not wanted to be rid of his service in the first place?_

As your thoughts flurried violently in your head, a roar came muffled from the other side of the wall accompanied by a crash of porcelain and silver. You stared at the barren wood of your wall and your mouth fell open. The king had not seemed one for overt displays of anger but it could be no other throwing such a tantrum. It assured you of your victory, yet you may have just overplayed your hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil makes his next move.

The morning came swifter than you would have wished. You had fallen asleep sitting against the wall after hours of dwelling on the scenes of the day before. You could not shake the sense that you had overstepped yourself and yet Thranduil’s reaction had been entirely gratifying. You had never expected to affect the king so deeply but you kept your pride in check as you pulled on a clean apron. You could never count short the Elvenking.

You tied your hair back, smoothing away the flyaways before turning to the door, little space between it and the few pieces of furniture in the room. At times, you felt as if you lived in a coffin, so confined and airless. You carefully pulled open the door only to be surprised by what, or rather, who awaited you on the other side. In your shock. You nearly tripped over your feet and kept yourself standing with the support of the oaken door.

“Y/N,” Thranduil smirked down at you, betraying none of the consternation he had the previous day, “Wonderful timing. I was just about to knock.”

“Your majesty?” You wrinkled your brow, confused by the most unexpected calling. You noticed he was wearing a long hide jacket and gloves, his boots of similar material, and you could guess at his plans.

“Today I’ve cancelled all meetings,” He announced and you searched for some falter; some hint of what had occurred and yet, nothing showed, “I am taking this day to ride, and you shall accompany me.”

“Oh?” You could not help the syllable before regaining your facade, “Your majesty.”

“My guards will stay behind as well, I rarely am allowed such solitude,” He explained as he stepped back and looked down the corridor, “I expect you to run ahead to the stables and order my elk readied. And one for yourself…” He glanced at you down his long nose, “Can you ride?”

“Well enough to stay on the horse,” You offered evenly, “At once, your majesty.”

You closed your door and stepped past him though he gave you little room to do so. Again, he watched you with latent interest and you were glad to turn the corner out of his sight. Stopping by the kitchen, you ate your breakfast in less than a minute and were informed of the food which had already been packed for the king’s excursion. Much of your duties had already been sorted and it was starting to annoy you.

In the stables, the elk was waiting and a horse as well; a tawny mare with dark eyes. The staff informed you that the saddle bags were in order and all that was needed was the king. You sighed as Evin appeared, a rare sight in the stable, and he strutted towards you. 

“See that King Thranduil is kept happy and that your duties are done satisfactorily,” He narrowed his eyes at you with disproval, “I should not like to tend to them again.”

The attendant marched away without awaiting a response and you glowered at his back. No doubt the king had ordered him to carry out the preparations and likely to clean up after the mess he had made in his anger. A chill of foreboding trickled up your spine and was only fed by the Thranduil’s arrival. 

He stepped out in his riding attire and approached his elk with a coo and a handful of oats. “It is a new steed,” He explained as he scratched its muzzle, “But elk are not difficult creatures,” His eyes slowly found you beside the pale horse, “Not like some.”

The underhanded comment was enough to make you steam and you looked to your own ride with uncertainty. You had only been atop a horse a few times in your life, servants not afforded such luxury, and you prayed your natural acumen, lauded by those who had witnessed your past forays, were truly inherent. You reached out to the mare slowly and she sniffed at your hand, lowering her head in unexpected affection.

“She likes you,” Thranduil intoned and you had not heard him near, “Would you like help in mounting?”

“Your majesty, I think I may be able to figure it out,” You insisted though you sounded less than convinced.

“Please, allow me,” He smiled before rounding you, gripping your hips firmly and lifting you before you could react. You let out an involuntary squeal and managed to lift a leg over the back of the horse, steadying yourself as Thranduil released you.

“Thank you, your majesty,” You hid your embarrassment and focused on gaining your balance as the king returned to his own steed.

“Not at all,” He insisted as he pressed his heels to the sides of his elk, inching the beast forward until he was beside you, “We’ve a long day ahead of us. Try to keep up.”

At that, he kicked his elk into a trot, restrained enough for you to follow but fast enough for you to be jostled in doing so. You worried that the saddle would do little to keep you upright and you clutched the reins desperately as your horse reach a solid pace. You kept to the tail of the king, as was customary for a servant, and prayed you would survive the day’s travels.

* * *

You were sweating, you had leaves in your hair and mud on your skirts, and your thighs burned. You had become certain by the afternoon that this was Thranduil’s way of punishing you and you cursed yourself for not figuring it out earlier. He looked pristine as the wind carried his blond tresses and his elk took the path with ease. Your horse was reliable but you were so inexperienced that you feared you would somehow tip her over.

Your pace slowed as you reached a small stream and the king followed it aimlessly and you doubted he even had an idea of where he was going. It had all been a trek devised to regain his upper hand and he was surely winning. He looked over his shoulder, a smirk apparent on his lips and he kept to the water’s direction.

“We’ll dismount for dinner soon enough,” He announced; the saddle bags had been packed bountifully but you had been forced to take your lunch on horseback, only stopping for a moment to do so.

“Your majesty,” You kept the discomfort from your voice as you swayed with the movement of your horse.

The stream grew wider to a river and the sound of a trickle became a shower and tall waterfall came into sight, glimmering in the light late afternoon. The water reflected shades of blue, violet, and green and had you not been so distressed, you would have marveled at its beauty. Thranduil stopped by a cluster of trees stretching out along the water’s edge and dismounted, tying his elk close enough to get a drink. You followed suit with less grace and were thankful to be back on solid ground.

You unbuckled a saddle bag and began to gather rations for the night’s meal though all you wanted to do was go home. You wondered when you would return to the palace and you glanced up at the ominous sky. You must have been far from the royal house and could not imagine how you would return by nightfall. Your eyes were drawn by the sense of another’s on you and you looked to the king’s, watching you with intrigue.

“We will not be returning this night,” He assured you with a grin, “There is a place we can rest near here.”

You held back a cry of disappointment and instead, gathered all that was in your arms and set it down atop a flat rock. You began to build a pit for the fire, kindling it as the king spoke in soft whispers to his elk. It was easy to distract yourself with preparing the food and you were thankful for it. You thought of how much you had lost in a mere matter of hours as you pushed back the hair which had fallen loose around your face.

“Your majesty,” You called to the king as you rose with a plate ready for him, “Your dinner.”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” He crossed and took the dish, sitting down on a stump as he cradled it over his knee, “Please, join me.”

You took your meagre portion, never one to eat much as you had little time for it, and sat on the flat rock you had formerly set the food on. He watched you closely as you began to chew your bread and the silence was torturous as you could not think of any witty retort. As you were near to finished your plate, the king set aside his and pulled forth a water skin and two wooden cups from his pack. You wanted to sigh but merely focused on your food and stayed quiet.

“Here,” He set one beside you, “It’s been a long day.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” You grumbled after swallowing your last mouthful, setting aside your plate.

“I wanted you to see the beauty of our forest,” He sipped his wine between words, “Pent up in the palace so,” He shifted on the stump, “It can be tiresome.”

You nodded and gulped down the wine, feeling awkward as you struggled to decipher he motives. You finished your glass, quicker than you should have, and rose, gathering the empty plates and crossed to the river to rinse them. You could feel him watching you but you did your work without pause and packed the dishes away with no hint of your discomfort.

“Well, then,” Thranduil rose and took his pack from beside his mount, “We should find a place to rest for the night. They should be just fine by the river.” He gave his elk a final pat as you lifted your much smaller pack and followed him towards the waterfall.

He led you up a steep incline along the stony side of the falls and the path wound up behind the sheet of water until you found yourself in a cave. It was of white stone, pristine for being in the midst of wilderness, and Thranduil smiled as if he knew the place well. He set down his pack and pulled out flint, lighting torches which had been lit at one time or the other. It was simple enough to tell that he had been here many a time before.

He finished with the torches, the flames lighting the dark cave as the sky dimmed on the other side of the water. You warily set down your pack as you watched his back, his shoulders shifting in unseen movement. He turned back, approaching with a pale pink flower in hand and he held it out to you.

“I thought you’d appreciate the greenery,” You took it, knowing to deny him was always a mistake, “It would look so nice in your hair.”

He was being more forward than ever and all after a day of few words. You straightened your lips as you fought the urge to scoff at him. _Did he think a rendezvous in the forest would so easily dissemble you?_ Even if the petals were beautiful and the sound of the waterfall lent serenity to the scene. It could not be so simple.

“Is this not bothersome?” He ran his finger along your apron, sodden from your work, “Such filth.”

“You get used to it,” You twirled the flower between your fingers and smelled it dully, “I am a servant. A dirtied apron is the least of my bothers.”

“It bothers me,” He insisted and reached around you, leaning in closely so that you smelled the lavender of his hair; recalling the vial of it beside his tub. He untangled the knot of the strings easily and let it fall loose as he backed away, “Come on. I want to show you something else.”

You lifted the apron over your head and placed it atop your pack, surprised to find him waiting for you to follow. He walked beside you as if he were not a king and he took a single torch from along the cave wall. He led you through a dark doorway and you found yourself climbing a set of crooked steps. Ahead, you could see the faint glow of moonlight and you continued without question, the tension growing between you.

As you came to the top of the stairs, the cave opened up into a natural balcony, open-faced to the expanse of grass and trees below. The moon and stars shone brightly down as Thranduil urged you forward and you looked around yourself to find ivy and a spectrum of flowers growing around the opening of the cave. Peering back across the land, you let your mouth fall open despite yourself and breathed in the awe-inspiring view.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Thranduil asked and you smiled, peeking over to find he was not looking at the stars, his hand delicately removing a leaf from your hair.

“Very,” You answered, tearing your eyes away before you could make a dire mistake, “Very beautiful.”

Your hands were clutched in tight fists as you felt the tingle spreading from your spine to your limbs, crawling up your throat and cheeks. You swallowed as you found yourself breathless and prayed you had the strength to make it through the night. Sending a plea to the moon, you let the night air cool your burning flesh and tried to ignore the stifling presence of the king beside you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader and Thranduil's unexpected trip takes an unexpected turn.

There was no sound but that of the cool breeze rustling your skirts and the night birds singing in the distance. You glanced over from the corner of your eye and saw Thranduil admiring the leaf he had pulled from your hair. You looked down to the dirtied hem of your skirts and unballed your fists, wiping the sweat from your palms on the plain wool. Against all your self-restraint, you found yourself fighting not to tremble against the tension which had overtaken the air.

You gulped and stiffly shifted on your feet, turning your back to the sky as you looked to the dark entrance of the cave, “I, uh, think perhaps it is time to retire for the night,” You suggested in a stunted voice, “Your majesty?”

“Y/N,” His hand caught yours, forcing you to turn to face him. His pale hair illuminated by the silver light of the moon and his eyes glimmered along with the stars above, “Please, no ‘your majesties’. I brought you here so that…” His eyes searched your face as his thumb ran along the back of your hand, “We could forget all that.”

“What are you talking about?” You could not have pulled away if you had wanted to. The magnetism which had filled the night and the inherent obligation of a servant held you in place, “Your majesty–”

“There you go again,” He interjected sharply, “Please, I don’t want to be your master, this night. Nor your king,” He slowly bent until he was upon his knees, still clinging to your hand as he knelt before you. As he looked up at you, you gazed down in awe but still could not rescind your arm, “I want you to be my master.”

“Your–”

“Thranduil,” He asserted before you could finish the title, “Call me Thranduil.”

“Uh, Thranduil,” You teetered on your feet nervously, lowering your lashes modestly as you thought. You had only ever been a servant and the thought of a king on his knees before you felt so fantastical, you were certain you must be dreaming.

“Y/N,” He raised your hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, “Tell me, right now, that you do not want me and we shall retire for the night and I shall say nothing else of this little affair.” He offered as you chewed your lip in contemplation, “Look me in the eyes and tell me.”

“I…” You squeezed his hand without thinking and exhaled deeply, “Please, stand up.”

“Y/N?” He questioned with disappointment as he rose, reluctant to release your hand but letting it fall back against your skirts.

“I’ve never…” You ran a hand over your forehead, pushing back the flyaway hairs as you turned around despairingly, “You’re a king and I thought…I thought this was all a game. I never truly expected…” You looked back to him as his expression betrayed his growing displeasure, “I know I am merely a servant, but I do have my dignity and as much as I want to, I just cannot.”

“You want to?” Thranduil breathed as he stepped forward, “Please, Y/N, why do you think I insisted upon coming here?” He looked around at the night, fragrant with the scent of trees and the river below, “I wanted us to be alone. Completely. I would never seek to dishonor you.” His words quavered and you had never heard such sincerity in his voice, “To me, you aren’t merely a servant.”

“I…” Your words trailed off as you fought yourself. 

Your body was telling you to seize the moment and despite your pride, so was your head. The sparkle of Thranduil’s eyes filled you with a warmth you had never felt before and you could sense your resolve wearing away. You reached out, unable to speak, and took the king’s hand, smiling as you traced a line along the back of it with your fingers, giving a small nod.

“Here I stand, at your service,” He smirked and bowed before you, waiting expectantly for you to guide him. You had never been in the position to give orders and you let your mouth fall open in your bewilderment. Your eyes widened as he looked up at you and you felt as awkward as a baby deer learning to walk.

The touch of your flesh against his was electrifying as he stepped slightly closer and you reached up to touched the silken strands of his hair. His face softened as you did so and he brought his own hand up to gently brush his fingers along your cheek. His hand found the back of your head and he began to pull the pins from your hair, letting them drop to the ground until your hair fell smooth down your back.

He leaned forward to inhale the smell of your tresses and pulled free a few more leaves and twigs still caught in them. You blushed as his fingers brushed through your hair and his hands came around to cradle your cheeks softly as his eyes peered into yours, “Can I kiss you?” He asked meekly and you nearly giggled at the uncharacteristic tone.

“Please,” You seized the collar of his jacket and pulled him closer, kissing him deeply before he could make the first move.

You pulled away and took his hand once more, turning to lead him back into the cave. You tried to collect yourself as your nerves ran wild and you tried to see through your disbelief. The cave flickered in the light of the lanterns as you entered and you looked back to Thranduil, finding the top button of his jacket. Distracting yourself with the task of undoing his coat, you managed to still the trembling in your hands. You had succumbed but you did not want him to think you entirely weak.

You were reassured as you looked up into his eyes and he seemed nearly dumbfounded to have you pushing his jacket down his arms. He wriggled out of the thick hide and let it fall to the ground behind him as you worked on his robe, the thick brocade coming loose easily and you left it open across his chest, admiring the muscles you had fought to ignore when previously bare.

You reached up to trace the lines of his chest and pelvis and you felt him shudder against your touch. You stepped closer once more and laid a kiss upon his lips, trailing down his neck and along his shoulders and chest, drawing a moan from him. You were emboldened by the low purr and you pulled the silk down his arms so that it joined his jacket upon the ground.

Withdrawing your lips, you edged back, his eyes clinging to you with a fire that fed your own. You slowly unbuttoned the collar of your gown as you held his gaze and you couldn’t help the grin which spread across your face. Next, you reached back to unlace the ties but it was never an easy task on your own. Carefully, Thranduil neared and rounded you, his hands replacing yours as he slowly untangled the laces. He leaned in teasingly, breathing down your neck, and you felt your gown slacken around your figure.

The wool sagged forward and you let it fall down your arms, pulling out of the sleeves so that the garment pooled heavily at your feet. Left only with your thin shift, you turned to Thranduil behind you but he held you at a distance, his eyes taking you in deliberately. You kicked off your slippers and slipped out of your stockings, no doubt comical beneath your underclothes.

You reached out to Thranduil and grasped the waist of his leggings, drawing him closer as you ran a hand along his bare torso. You kissed him once more, this time deeper as your hunger overwhelmed you, and you felt his own desire apparent against the cloth of his trousers. Coyly, you reached down and picked at the laces of his belt and he groaned again.

“Y/N,” He breathed your name as he pulled his lips away, “You’re–”

“Shhh,” You hushed him as his leggings loosened and you teased the fabric across his manhood with your fingers. He squirmed at the sensation and his own hands bunched the fabric of your shift as he gripped your waist. You trilled a naughty laugh as your fingertips brushed the inside of his waistband and he fidgeted once more. You had always so enjoyed making the king writhe.

* * *

Thranduil shivered as Y/N’s fingertips grazed the skin of his hipbones and she slowly inched the belt of his leggings down. His own hands began to gather the cloth of her shift, the fabric so thin that he could trace her outline merely in a glance. He pulled it up until the hem was above her waist and he reached down to touch the soft flesh of her bottom. She moaned duskily and he smirked, pressing his lips to hers in desperation.

She slipped her hand below his belt and her fingers found his girth, rigid against the rich velvet of his leggings. She pushed open his trousers, the laces unraveling from the cloth, and pulled forth his manhood, stroking it firmly as he inched her shift higher. To his chagrin, she released him but only to lift her arms so that he could bare her entirely and he pulled the shift over her head easily.

He was overcome as he admired her figure, her breasts, waist, hips, thighs; all immaculately curved. He could never have dreamed a more perfect being. He reached out to her, pulling her closer so that his member poked her and he buried his hands in her hair, the soft locks sending a pleasant thrill through him. He leaned down, laying kisses along her neck, collarbone, lingering on her breast, nibbling and teasing as her hand found the back of his head and held him close.

Thranduil lowered himself to his knees as he grasped Y/N’s hips, leaving love bites along her flesh as he hands travelled down to her thighs. Her hand was still tangled in his hair and it drove him onward as he nuzzled the soft hair of her pubis. She giggled, an intoxicating titter, and he tickled the inside of her thigh and she moved her legs apart in invitation.

He let go of her thighs, his hands left goosepimples along her skin until he was once more cupping her bottom and he guided one leg over shoulder. He tasted her, carefully at first, every flick of his tongue deliberate. She arched slightly as she tried to urge him on and his fingers tightened against the flesh of the thigh slung over him.

His other hand released her bottom and he brought it up to graze her opening as his mouth tended to her clitoris. He kept his pace measured so that her pleasure built steadily and to his delight, her moans were growing louder and more frequent. His own desire was ever more heated and almost uncomfortable as his lust was inundated by her sighs. He pressed a finger to her slit and pushed inside of her slowly and she gasped as her fingers twisted in his hair.

As he plied greater pressure to her, he slipped another finger inside of her and worked his tongue and hand in tandem. She was breathless as he felt her legs beginning to tremble and he knew there would be bruises left on her thigh from his tight grip. Her pelvis was rocking against him in her unrestrained pleasure until finally, she squeaked, a mostly lovely cry, and he felt the moisture spreading down his hand.

He kept teasing her as she reached her climax and looked up at last to find her head lolling backward, her hair draped in sweaty waves down her back and shoulders. He pulled away from her slowly and removed her leg from his shoulder and she sunk down to her knees across from him, kissing him with fervor as she leaned against him. She nibbled his lip as she slowly pulled away and looked at him with smoky eyes; he had never seen her look more enticing.

* * *

You smirked as you pulled away from Thranduil, his eyes fiery with unsatisfied lust. You set your hands on his shoulders and nudged him, easing him off his knees to sit on the rocky cave floor. As he did, you looked to his exposed manhood peeking out of his leggings and you edged forward on your knees. You ran a finger up the length of him as you crawled onto his lap, hovering your pelvis over his rampant desire.

You placed a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you stroked his member with your other. He closed his eyes with a tortured groan and you smiled triumphantly before you laid another kiss upon his lips. You pressed his tip along your clit and slowly guided it to your opening, teasingly rubbing against him. Finally, you pushed him inside and lowered yourself onto him with a sigh of relief.

“Oh, Y/N,” He hummed as his hand ran the expanse of your back and rested on your bottom, “Oh…”

You began to move delicately atop him and he leaned his head against your shoulder as he held you close. You could already feel a tingling rising in your pelvis and you fought to keep your breath steady. He was bigger than you had thought and he filled you completely, each thrust causing a new sensation. Your motion began to pick up as you felt the heat building and Thranduil’s moans grew more frequent.

You leaned back with your hands behind you as he grasped your hips, guiding your movement as he watched you with fevered eyes. He stilled you as he sensed you nearing your climax he lifted you from atop him. He guided you to your knees as he got back to his and turned you around. You were all too willing to do so as your thighs burned from riding him.

He pushed your legs apart as he neared you from behind and you arched your back so that his manhood brushed your slit. He wrapped an arm around you, under one arm and over your shoulder as he pressed himself to your back and entered you once more. His other hand reached down and he began to rub your clitoris, still sensitive, and he thrust from behind so that your whole body reverberated with pleasure.

Contented by the exclamation it caused, Thranduil picked up a steady paced and you were too lost in your own lust to think about anything else. Your thighs and lower back were burning and suddenly, waves flowed from your pelvis and trickled through every inch of you. You babbled nonsense as you climaxed and Thranduil took it as encouragement as he thrust harder and faster than before.

You were digging your nails into the flesh of his arm, grasping at him as he approached his own peak. He pulled out of you before he didd and his seed spilled onto the stony floor as you were released, slumping forward on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. Thranduil approached from behind carefully hugging you as he kissed your cheek, your back sweaty against his torso.

“You’re beautiful with your hair loose, you know that?” He said in a low drawl as he held you firmly against him, “Absolutely irresistible.”


	9. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and the Reader return to Mirkwood but not all is as it was.

You barely recalled falling asleep but you awoke nestled against Thranduil on his bedroll. Your shift hung loosely around you and a thin woolen blanket laid across the both of you. The king was still bare chested beneath and held you to him with an arm around your waist. You admired the serenity of his features as he dozed and slipped out of his grip with reluctance.

You gathered your gown from the cave floor where it had been left in your rapture and found your slippers and stockings. Looking back at the king one last time, you tiptoed through the cave door and down past the waterfall, carefully descending the steep path to the river. The elk and pale mare stood by the tree; the later with its eyes closed and the other watching you with warm brown eyes.

As you neared the antlered beast, he lifted his nose to you and sniffed, rubbing his muzzle against your shoulder. You paused and tentatively lifted a hand to pet its long snout, the elk moving its head in encouragement. You wondered at the gentleness of the creature and how it could be so drawn to the cold king. You asked the same of yourself as you retreated and set your clothes away from the water.

You edged close to the river and pulled your shift over your head, tossing it over your shoulder to land with the rest of your garments. You dipped a toe hesitantly into the cool morning water and shivered, willing yourself forward a little at a time. Goose pimples began to spread across your body as you got deeper and you dipped your head under the surface, slowly adjusting to the temperature.

You came back, your long hair heavy with dampness and you leaned back until you were almost floating on the water. You sighed, thinking of the night before. In the moment, you had felt such bliss and even laying in the river, you could feel the thrill of it forming at the base of your neck. You closed your eyes with a forlorn smile, letting it fall away as your thoughts returned to reality.

_Something which seemed a dream must only be as much._

You returned your feet to the riverbed and stood, wetting your hair once more as you scrubbed at your scalp with your nails. It had been a long time since you had bathed out of anything but a basin and you felt you were cleansing yourself of more than tangible filth. Refreshed but resigned to your dread, you climbed out of the river, twisting the moisture out of your hair as you did.

You used the buckle of the horse’s saddle to razor away a piece of lace from the ties of your dress to bind your hair. Securing it tightly at the base of your neck, you pulled your shift back and shook out your gown before lacing it up with difficulty. With stockings and slippers in place, you felt as if you had returned to normal and it made your chest even heavier.

You took the path back up to the cave to retrieve your pack and found Thranduil stirring atop his bedroll, issuing a drawn-out yawn to the morning. You tried not to look at him as you brushed the dirt off your bag, the bedroll still tightly wound at the top. You set it near the exit and gathered the king’s clothing from the ground, placing it beside him as he sat up.

“Good morning, beautiful,” He chimed and you had never heard him so pleasant. You could barely smile as you backed away and forced out your own greeting.

He eyed you curiously before you turned your back to him and waited for him to dress. You recalled how he had looked the night before, the sweat across his bare chest and his open trousers. It would be a memory you would cherish for years to come, but it could be nothing more.

You listened to him dress in silence as you grabbed your back and slung it over your shoulder, turning back to find him buttoning his silk robe, “I’ll get breakfast on.” You announced dully before scurrying away, avoiding another of his glances.

You sparked the pit you had made the night before and went about skinning carrots and potatoes for morning hash. Your work kept you from dissembling as you tried to gather your courage for the king. You would have to speak to him before your return. You heard him before you saw him.

Even without bathing and after a night spent in a cave, he looked pristine. His blonde hair was undirtied and tidy and even his clothing did not show the wear of the night. His pale skin glowed in the sunlight and he stopped to coo at his elk before approaching the fire. He sat behind you as you tended to the pan of hash and you felt his hand gently caress your back.

You stood, pulling away with the hot pan and divided the meal unevenly into two dishes. You handed him the larger serving, trying not tremble as you did and he took it with a mute gratuity. He took a bite as you saw the thoughts wrinkling his forehead and you ignored your food as you lowered yourself beside him.

“Your majesty,” The words turned his eyes to stone as he looked to you, “I…” You gulped back your nerves, “We cannot go on thus. You know that, right?”

He stared at you numbly and you could see the ice spreading through his veins.

“What happened last night…” You gripped your bowl tightly, “When we returned to the palace, it cannot go on. You must know that it cannot.”

“Y/N,” He breathed weakly as his eyes searched yours desperately. Finding no crack in your veneer, he pushed his shoulders back and lifted his chin, “Yes, I know that it cannot.”

He returned his attention to his food, pushing it around with his fork. He said nothing further though you saw his lips twitch several times as if he were tempted to protest. You looked to your own dish, forcing down the hash without tasting it and pondered the long ride ahead. If it had been a rough trek getting there, it would surely be worse upon your return.

* * *

Upon your return to the palace, night had fallen once more and few words had passed between you and Thranduil in your hours of riding. He had not even requested his evening meal before he dismissed you. You retreated to your chambers all too willingly and when finally, alone, you could not help the tears which rose. Sprawled across your thin mattress, you let the droplets trickle down unchecked and you cursed your own foolishness.

You had sworn not to succumb to the king and in your moment of weakness, you had let yourself fall for his empty promises. You were a servant and would always be a servant. You would not be some dirty secret or lurid fancy for a king. You had only ever found pride in your work alone and you had sullied yourself so easily. He was likely chuckling over it now; another name upon his list.

You feel asleep amidst your despair, exhausted from the days of riding and the emotional turmoil which had accompanied them. You awoke, your internal clock as finely tuned as ever, and rose, changing to a clean gown and apron and pinning your hair in its low bun. You found the kitchens blindly, going through the motions of carrying the heavy tray, and walking the corridors back to the king’s chambers.

You knocked heavily and Thranduil called from within and you found him as you had every morning before. You placed his breakfast before him and he did not so much as look up from the parchment in his hands. He had not dressed, but that was not unusual, thought he sat without a robe, his undershorts the only garment to shield him.

You opened the carved armoire, searching for his daily outfit, nearly choosing a robe which was similar in colour to your gown before passing it up for an aubergine piece. You set out his clothing in a neat pile behind the screen and returned to your patient duty beside his table. He rose the moment your feet had stilled and without a word, disappeared behind the screen.

Staring at the hem of your skirt, you fought to keep your thoughts from driving you to tears once more. You shifted on your feet and listened to the rustle of silk and satin behind the screen. Straightening your posture, you lifted your head and set your eyes ahead. You would not allow yourself to be miserable and there was only one course to be taken.

Thranduil emerged in his dark robe and grey leggings, his boots laced to the knees and two strands of his blonde hair pinned behind his head. You swallowed back your doubts, clearing your throat as you watched him, clasping your hands before you to keep from fidgeting.

“Your majesty?” You squeaked out.

“Y/N,” He neared, taking his tea cup from the table and downing the last of it swiftly.

“Perhaps, I think,” You chewed your lip between words; you may have been overstepping, “It would be best that I return to the stables?”

It had come out more a question than you would have liked but you could barely form words for the nausea rising in your stomach.

“Do you?” He challenged with a sharp raise of his brow and you saw the storm brewing, “And who are you to command a king?”

His retort left you stunned and you blanched visibly at the venom in his words. Your stuttered in your response, bowing your head in obeisance, “My apologies, your majesty. I never meant to…I should not have presumed to–”

“You should not have,” He whisked past you towards the door, “Now if you would recall your duties, I have a long day of meetings and little time to spare.” He opened the birch door and stepped out, waiting for you to follow, “I should like a bottle of burgundy before my first appointment.” He looked down his nose with his piercing eyes, “Now.”

Without a second thought, you turned on your heel and departed for the cellars. If the day was to be interminable for Thranduil, it would be even more so for you.

* * *

The hours slogged by painfully, the king only calling to you when he wanted his glass refilled or some task carried out. You did so diligently and without words, wishing for the stable more and more by the minute. You wish you had returned to the gardens before you had let the situation get so complicated. You had known from the start that Thranduil only had a mind for trouble.

As Thranduil dismissed his last meeting, he rose and looked towards you with a cool gaze. You missed when he had gazed at you so intensely that it made standing still a challenge. He tossed his hair back and neared the door with lithe steps, turning back to you with disinterest.

“Fetch my dinner…” He ordered and for a moment you saw a spark of connivance in his eyes, though it could have been all in your mind, “And I shall like champagne this night. There should be a bottle of Rivendell gold in the cellar.” He paused a moment and focused on you, “Somewhere.”

With that, he spun around smoothly and left you standing alone in his solar, the lantern casting sullen shadows through the chamber. You blew out the flame before you followed in his steps but the corridors were to lead you in a different direction. Stopping by the kitchens, the smells nearly made you sick and you requested that the king’s meal be readied for your return.

In the cellars, you lit a single lamp and began your search among the bottles. You had seen few Rivendell wines among them in your past visits and so Thranduil’s foreboding tone was more than fitting. You became so frustrated in your search that you began to line bottles along the floor as you got further back on the shelves. False hope took you as you discovered a Rivendell red and you nearly smashed it against the wall with spite.

At last, you revealed the bottle of which the king had spoken but you had to realign the bottles you had displaced. When you were content that all was back where it belonged, you took the champagne and returned to the kitchens, a tray waiting for you. Hesitating for a moment, though you had already taken far too long, you girded yourself for what was left of your night.

Your walk back to the royal chambers would have been appropriately accompanied by a death knell ringing in your wake. This was the first of how many nights to come in which you lived in the purgatory of the king’s wrath. He could not have possibly believed that your little dalliance would have been anything but. You knocked on the door with your knee, balancing your wares carefully, but you received no response.

You rapped again and the same result came. Wearily, you shifted your tray and took the handle, pushing the door inward slowly. It opened without sound and you entered, peeking around to find the chamber lit with coloured lanterns but otherwise unoccupied. Coming into full view of the room, your smelled the familiar sent of flowers and looked around with confusion.

The blue and green shades of the lanterns set the room in a hazy glow and amethyst petals littered the floor deliberately. Setting down your tray before it tumbled, you stepped towards the trail of petals and toed them with your slipped. The path led to the open balcony doors and you could see Thranduil’s tall figure limned in the moonlight, waiting with his back to you.

Uncertain, you followed the petals and at the set of glass door, you paused and waited for the king to speak. You knew he was aware of your presence and you could not have said something if you had wanted to.

“Y/N,” He waved you forward to join him at the railing as he turned, “We cannot go on like this,” He took your hand as you neared, his eyes twinkling as they found yours, “I cannot live with you so close knowing that I can never touch you again. Never admire you. Never…I–” He breathed in deeply before he continued, “And if I must release you from your servitude so that I might, I shall do so happily. I do not want you to be my servant,” He squeezed your hand, placing it upon his chest so that you felt the furious beating of his heart, “I shall ever be yours.”

You were agog to the point that you nearly choked on your own tongue. You stared up at the king disoriented. You could not imagine being anything but a servant, and surely among the staunch nobility of Mirkwood, you could never be more.

“I cannot…” You licked your dry lips as you searched for words, “It would mean a life of secrecy. Worse than any chore I’ve been tasked with. I just could not.”

“It wouldn’t,” He shook his head fervently, “Please, do you think I care what my lords should think? I am king and I say what is acceptable. Y/N, they would not dare to slander you. I would not allow it.”

“A maid and a king, how very novel,” You mused dryly, looking away before tears could form, “Thranduil, it’s a fool’s dream.”

“It’s not,” His voice fluttered coyly, “You know elven rites as well as any. You know that formality is merely a footnote to acts.”

“Thranduil, what are you saying?” You glanced back to him, a grin across his face.

“Why, by the act we partook in beneath that waterfall, we are coupled by law,” He declared, “That cave was carved by Eru Ilúvatar himself and is regarded as sacred land. In the eyes of Eru, we are married.”

“What?” You nearly gasped, though your disbelief was underlined with a sense of rapture, “Married?” You let out a scoff, “Married?!” You voice was shrill as the chortle became a laugh, “To a king? I–”

“Being wed in the eyes of Eru, you would be my queen,” He affirmed as he lifted both your hands before him and kissed them gently, “You are stripped of all your duties as a servant from this time forward, that I vow to you. You shall only be served, as my wife and queen.”

“Please, don’t be foolish,” You hissed bashfully, but he would not let you go.

“It is the same promise I made that night under the waterfall and it cannot be undone,” He drew you closer, his lips close to yours, “I am at your service. Forever and always.”

Your better sense urged you to protest further but your mind was hazy and all you could do was close the distance between you and Thranduil. You kissed him and shuddered in your bewilderment, his arms wrapping around you to still your quivering. You sunk deeper into your passion and his lips convinced you of his words. He pulled away at last, gazing down at you, his silver eyes glowing in the night light.

“What do you command of me?” He purred as he brought a hand up to caress your cheek, “Your majesty.”


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader adjusts to her new life; trying to reconcile her past as a servant with her future as queen.

The dawn was breaking over the trees which lined the horizon. Hazy blue streaked with amber streamed in through the balcony doors, lending a celestial glow to the chamber. You had been awake for an hour, sat at the vanity as you stared into the mirror listlessly. You were still adjusting to life as noblewoman. Not just any noblewoman but the queen!

Many would have been lost in the fantasy of it, the disbelief of having an entire realm at their feet, but all it did was terrify you. You had only ever been told what to do, not the other way around. You sat in only your shift, your hair still tangled and eyes puffy with fatigue. You recalled the day before which had you so restless.

The king had been anxious to reveal your secret nuptials to his subjects and thus presented you as queen to a bewildered court. In a gown he had chosen for you, you stepped forward as he guided you by your hand and smiled at the masses whom you were certain despised you.  _How could Mirkwood ever bow to a commoner?_

“Melamin,” Thranduil’s groggy voice came as he slid from beneath the covers, his movement in the mirror startling you from your apprehensions, “What has you awake so early?”

“Don’t,” You hissed at his endearment, “I will not bear the rest of our days together with such sickening sentimentality.”

“My wife,” He purred and he pulled his fingers gently through your mussed hair, “My queen. You’re as grim as the day we first met.”

“It wasn’t so long ago,” You grumbled as you grimaced into the mirror, “Tell me you did not think me a fairer elf. One more congenial.”

“You are exactly as I dreamt you were,” He kissed the top of your head, looking at your reflection with a smile, “Though as obstinate as ever.”

“Mmm,” You frowned, standing carefully so that you did not collide with him, “I should go fetch breakfast—”

“You will do no such thing,” He caught your arm before you could pass him, “You are no longer a servant, Y/N. You will get use to it in time. There is a whole kingdom to serve you.”

“I can serve myself,” You insisted, “Don’t you ever want to do anything for yourself?”

“There are many things that only I can do,” He tilted his head, “But my life does not always allow me time for those more tedious tasks.”

“What is my life to be? I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Y/N, if you are the same bullheaded servant I fell in love with, which I know you are, you will be a fine queen. Do not doubt yourself,” He brought his hand up, tracing his fingers along the crook of your neck, “Now, you stay and get dressed and I shall fetch breakfast…I’ll have a new servant for us by the week’s end and then you can cease to worry about such doldrum.”

“Funny, a servant ordering around another servant,” You chuckled dryly.

“A queen,” Thranduil corrected you, pecking your lips gently, “Now, if you would excuse me. It’s been ages since I’ve ventured to the kitchens.”

With that, the silver haired king pulled on a thick dressing robe and slipped into a pair of velvet slippers, disappearing beyond the immense doors. You sighed as you looked around the royal chambers and they appeared even more daunting. How was it that you were less intimidated when you little more than a servant?

You crossed to the armoire and opened the doors with dread. Thranduil had had it reorganized with your new wardrobe which he had hastily commissioned and more gowns arrived by the day. You had pleaded with him that you did not need such finery but you knew you could not continue to wear the cornflower skirts of your service.

You chose the plainest gown you could find. A lilac so pale it was nearly grey, high-necked and with only a swirl of embroidery around the cuffs. The rest were too fanciful for your taste. Lustrous gold silk, rosy pink satin, and deep red velvet. You could not imagine yourself wearing such frippery for the rest of your life. Even upon your debut at court, you had felt misplaced in the pristine silver charmeuse.

You returned to the vanity, combing your hair smooth before pinning it high on your head, with only a single strand loose around your face. You smiled meekly at your reflection. It was as simple as you could get away with. You went through the routine of dressing, clean shift, corset, gown, stockings, slippers. By the time you finished, Thranduil was kicking at the door.

You opened it to reveal the king struggling to keep his wares aloft. You took the tray from him with a shake of your head and led him inside. You placed it upon the table and felt a pinch through the thick cotton of your skirts.

“You look wonderful, melamin,” He watched as you sat in a chair, leaning an arm against the table with a yawn, “But I think you’re missing a certain something.”

He swept over to his night table, reaching inside the drawer and bringing forth a sparkling silver necklace. It was as if he had taken stars from the very sky and strung them together. He crossed to you and clasped it around your neck from behind. “Thanduil, you shouldn’t have. I can’t—”

“You can,” He insisted and rounded to look at you, “I would suggest you let your hair down but I would not take away from the beauty of the necklace…and yourself.”

“Thranduil, you are about to spoil my appetite,” You kidded as you removed the lid of the tray, “So sit, before it is gone entirely.”

* * *

You had excused Thranduil to his kingly business, all too familiar with the banality of royalty. Your own would call to you in time but your first event with the ladies of Mirkwood would not be until the morrow. The king had suggested you explore the kingdom as queen, get to know those parts of it barred to you as a servant. You had accepted the invitation, though you only truly intended to visit the gardens.

As you passed the great hall, you heard voices from within, one in particular which sent a pang of guilt through you. You peeked through the doorway, Lord Nethon at the centre of the massive chamber, a scroll unfolded in his hands, and Evin at his elbow. The trestles which would be used for the feast were against the walls and the young noble seemed overwhelmed at the task before him. Only a few days left before the solstice banquet he had been deemed responsible for because of you.

“Lord Nethon,” You stepped inside, daring to cross the chamber towards him despite Evin’s dark glare, “I suppose you’re preparing for the feast.”

“I am,” He sighed, “But I fear it’ll be a disappointment, your majesty.”

“Oh, please, none of that ‘majesty’ nonsense,” You still felt awkward at the title, “And don’t be so cynical, I am sure it will all turn out. You’re smart and more than capable.”

“It just…” He glanced around himself, “So dreary in here. We were just trying to figure out which lamps to use.”

“Yes, it is rather dank for a summer celebration,” You followed his gaze to the darkened corners, “Oh, may I make a suggestion, my lord?”

“Please do,” He said eagerly.

“Why don’t you hold the banquet in the gardens? The king is actually quite fond of them, you know?” The idea blossomed in your head, “The spring has seen the flowers lush and the servants are ever vigilant in their care…I should know.”

The young lord laughed, but not conceitedly. It was a cordial chuckle, one of genuine amusement and comradery. He was the first to make you feel no less than the queen you were, aside from your husband. Evin, who listened with obvious disapproval, still looked upon you as little more than a stable hand. The heat of his glare was starting to prick at you.

“Oh, what a novel idea,” Nethon exclaimed, “I never ever—you’re so smart. And I daresay, you’ve taken well to your new role.”

“Please, I’ve yet to attune myself to the pandering of my subjects,” You chided modestly, “Come, I’ve got the perfect place in mind.”

“Your majesty,” He bowed his head and offered his arm as you guided him out of the great hall. Evin followed a few steps behind as befitted his station and it was almost tempting to smirk back at him in triumph. As much as you disliked the elf, it would unseemly to be boastful.

You soon found yourself in the gardens, a sense of nostalgia flowing through you. It felt like it had been an eternity since you had last been there; kneeling in the dirt as you pruned roses and pulled weeds. You wished now that you had a pair of shears so that you could refine the stray leaves and branches.

“Just around here,” You assured Nethon as you weaved through the twists and turns of the labyrinthine gardens, “You see,” You released the nobleman and waved your arms towards the large expanse edge by finely trimmed hedges; it was near as spacious as the great hall and far brighter, “The trestles could easily be fit here and the lamps would not need to be lit until later. And we could have bouquets arranged for the tables and they wouldn’t wilt so quickly…Sorry, I do get carried away.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” Nethon smiled, “I never expected you to be so lively…it’s endearing.”

“Right,” You cleared your throat, the compliment catching you off-guard, “Well, it is your banquet. You may do as you wish.”

“I may but it is always wise to take the advice of a queen,” He stepped towards you, bowing his head in deference, “You’re a natural.”

“Mmm,” Evin walked the perimeter of the enclave, “These bushes are thorny. I do not think the court would be eager for such a prickly feast.”

“We can prune them,” You assured him, Nethon standing closer than you would have liked, “We can even hang some banners from them to give them a bit more allure.”

“Another good idea,” Nethon looked down at you and you smiled back before glancing around the gardens, “I suppose you’re quite busy as queen but I would be ever in your debt if you would assist me in my preparations.”

“Not at all,” You were already devising how the tables would be set as you surmised the ground would need to be cleared of twigs and errant leaves, “I would be all too hap—”

“Y/N,” A deep voice called from the far corner, Thranduil revealing himself from behind the wall of hedges, “I thought you may be out here,” He neared, his silver eyes catching Lord Nethon harshly, “Though I wasn’t expecting you to be… _accompanied_.”

“I was just helping Lord Nethon. We were thinking of having the solstice here,” You announced as Thranduil none so covertly inserted himself between you and the nobleman, “We were thinking it would be a refreshing change.”

“I suppose it would,” Thranduil said dryly as he considered the gardens with indifference, “But I did task Lord Nethon with planning the banquet. You’ve your own duties to worry about.”

“I can do both,” You squinted at him before looking to the two other elves, keenly aware of their silence, “Besides, I am merely helping Lord Nethon…” You turned to the nobleman in question, “If you would excuse myself and the king, he is right. I do have other worries.”

You looked back to Thranduil, giving him a sharp glare which had him wincing. You took his arm and motioned him towards the hedges, wordlessly escorting him to a more isolated inlet. You released his arm once you were assured of your privacy and turned on him, a fire brewing in your chest.

“Did you not tell me to explore, hmm? To find something to busy myself?” You hissed.

“I…did,” He admitted guiltily, “I just, uh, I was surprised to find you with Lord Nethon.”

“Really? Are you still jealous?” You rolled your eyes, planting your feet and setting your hands on your hips, “The last I checked,  _we_  were married.”

“Thankfully,” He smiled pathetically and you shook your head, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Well…I never expected an apology,” You allowed, “So, I forgive you, as long as you don’t carry on thus. I’ve enough to fret over as it is.”

“I know,” He neared and took your hand, “How about a walk in the gardens? To forget your troubles?”

“Of course,” You held onto him as he led you down the next path, losing yourself in the medley of flowers which spotted the hedges and the smooth ruffle of leaves beneath the soft summer breeze.

* * *

The day of the solstice had arrived and you found yourself enraptured in the final details of the banquet. Lord Nethon had done most of the broader planning but you had taken it upon yourself to arrange the flowers for the ceremony. Several other servants aided you in your work, among them was one of your old Rivendell companions.

Netti had not said a word to you. She had merely bowed her head and focused on stringing together flowers with ribbon. You had hoped she would say anything but she didn’t and you couldn’t think of how to move her to words. Evin was also among the party but he did not but walk the length of the table and glower at the servants.

You were humming as you secured a bundle of stems together but your song was interrupted by the harsh reprimands coming from the overseer. Evin was deriding Netti as she gathered several roses she had dropped. You set aside your own work and neared, kneeling to help her with the mess. She looked at you in surprise and you stood, handing her the flowers with a smile.

“Next time, you’re to the laundries,” Evin warned as he crossed his arms.

“Pardon me,” You lifted your chin, “It was an honest mistake.”

“It’s her third in the last hour,” He huffed, “I am sure you understand that we expect efficiency of our servants.”

“I understand that our servants work hard, most of them anyhow,” You raised your brow defensively, “All I ever see you doing is bossing around others.”

“It is my duty to supervise the staff—”

“But you are still a servant who is quite well compensated for doing less than those he so rudely mistreats,” You countered, “I think, perhaps, if you had any sense of courtesy, the staff would work much better.”

“Ugh,” He scoffed, scowling at you, “Queen for barely a week and you think yourself touched by Eru himself. As I recall you were once a servant, you’ve just the grace to have seduced yourself into the crown.”

“Evin!” Thranduil’s voice boomed from behind you; his habit of sneaking up on you only growing more frequent, “What did you just say to my wife?”

“I-I—” Evin spluttered as he looked between you and the king; your own anger about to burst forth, “My apologies, your majesty, it was—”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Evin,” Thranduil’s voice was quiet but frightening, “I have raised you up, I have not been anything but generous in promoting you, and you speak thus to my wife; your queen?” Evin’s eyes widened as he gaped at the irate king. “You don’t owe me an apology, you owe Queen Y/N one.”

“I…of course,” Evin turned to you with humiliation, his shoulders quivering, “I’m sorry, your majesty, I did not mean to offend you.”

“Good,” Thranduil sneered, “Now, go clear your quarters and find yourself a bed in the lower rooms…you’ll be working the laundries from now on.”

The king dismissed Evin with a wave of his hand and turned to you, his expression softening instantaneously. “Melamin, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Thranduil,” You assured him, “You shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

“I should have banished him,” He swore, “Always the ingrate but effective…or so I thought.” He glanced towards the former overseer’s back as he disappeared behind the stable, “I was just coming to fetch you. You still need to ready yourself for the feast.”

“I have time,” You insisted, your eyes drawn to Netti who still stood beside you, paralysed by the scene which had just occurred. Your lips twitched and idea came over you and you hoped it would make up for the grudge she held you, “And I’ve found myself a handmaid. Netti, she is of Rivendell too and I would be most happy to have her close.”

“Whatever you wish, melamin,” Thranduil accepted as he brushed a loose strand from your forehead, “But we should go prepare for the solstice.”

“You go ahead, I’ll be there shortly,” You kissed his cheek, sending him off reluctantly before turning to Netti who stared at you with confusion. “Look, I know you’re angry at me for whatever reason, and truly, I don’t need a handmaid. But it would be better than being a chambermaid or stable hand. You’ll have your own chamber and you’ll be fed the same as nobles. All you have to do is tolerate me.”

“Really?” She said with wonder, “You would do that for me?”

“Well, I did promise I would try to get you better, didn’t I?” You grinned at her kindly, “Besides, it gets lonely being queen…as it does a servant. So, will you do it?”

“Of course,” She nearly knocked you off your feet as she hugged you, correcting herself and stepping back to bow to you exaggeratedly, “Your majesty.”


End file.
